


String Theory: An AU Series

by Annerb



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-07
Updated: 2008-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-18 15:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 65,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annerb/pseuds/Annerb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Samantha Carter joins the SGC and discovers a life she never expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Ficlet 1: Pendant**

The first time Jack sees her, he’s wandering in front of the windows of the briefing room, half listening to Daniel’s latest emphatic discussion of something or other. Movement in the room below catches his eye, a welcome distraction.

At the center of the room stands a woman he has never seen before. His first impression is that she looks sort of…washed out. A pale face is framed by shoulder length blond hair, and the white lab coat she wears does nothing to break up the monochromatic scheme. She is so still, that for a moment he wonders if he is going to have to start believing in ghosts now too.

“Daniel,” Jack says, not caring that he is rather rudely interrupting the archeologist’s latest diatribe.

“Yeah?” Daniel answers with a sigh of annoyance.

“Who is that?” Jack asks pointing down below.

Daniel drifts over to the window, his irritation dropping away in the face of curiosity. He peers down at her with his arms crossed over his chest. “Oh, her,” he says. “That’s Dr. Samantha Carter.”

“Archeologist?” Jack queries, not bothering to hide the hint of displeasure in his voice.

“No,” Daniel patiently says, squinting up at Jack. “Theoretical astrophysicist.”

“Just what this place needs,” Jack grouses, “another geek doing some job I can’t even pronounce.”

Shaking his head with fond exasperation, Daniel moves back to his seat at the table to wait for the rest of their team.

For some reason he can’t quite explain, Jack stays at the window watching the theoretical-whatsis. She’s still standing at the base of the ramp, but then she glances furtively over both of her shoulders as if looking for someone to tell her she doesn’t belong there. Which she doesn’t, new scientist or not. But Jack decides to ignore that fact for the moment.

Apparently having gathered some courage, the woman starts slowly up the ramp, her footsteps echoing eerily. She stops only when she stands within the giant circle. Reaching out one hand she hesitantly reaches out to touch the gate, running her fingers down the sweeping curve of the inner ring.

With both of her hands on the gate now, it strikes Jack that she is somehow trying to make the mysterious object more real…more concrete. It seems a strange sentimentality for a scientist, but then again, Daniel surprises him all the time, so he’s learned to expect the unexpected.

One of the blast doors slides open with a clang and the scientist jumps as if burned. She turns quickly, her hands dropping to her sides. She quietly watches the changing of the guards around the gate.

Then, for no evident reason, she lifts her head and looks straight up at Jack. He stares back at her and his first thought is that he’ll have to rethink his initial assessment of her as bland. It’s her eyes, he decides. They give him the inexplicable feeling of someone just waking up, coming alive after long hibernation. He surprises himself by wanting to know what exactly had given her that look.

“Colonel,” Hammond’s voice calls from behind Jack.

Jack spins around to find his team already seated at the table.

“Why don’t we get started,” the General says, gesturing to the table.

“Sure thing, sir,” Jack says, sticking his hands in his pockets as if he hasn't just been caught off guard.

He spares one more moment to glance back over his shoulder, but the mystery scientist is gone. Jack stares at the gate for another beat before settling down at the briefing table, the conversation turning to P8X-987 and SG-1’s next mission.

By the time the meeting finishes, Dr. Samantha Carter is long forgotten.

*     *     *     *

Her fingers are methodically kneading dough when Sam registers the soft click-thump of the daily mail delivery. With half a mind on the feel of the elastic dough sucking at her skin, her eyes automatically glance at the clock, registering 3:15. Right on time. She counts out the last few folds of the dough and sets it aside in a warm corner of her kitchen. There is just enough time for her to run to cleaners while it rises.

Her heels click loudly through the house as she crosses the foyer to retrieve her purse. Envelopes spray over the entryway in casual disarray and she bends down to pick them up. ‘Dr. & Mrs. Fleming’ peers up at her from various bills and pieces of correspondence. She’s collecting them together to place at Jeff’s seat at the table when one drab grey envelope catches her eye.

It’s addressed to Dr. Samantha Carter.

She stares at the name like something foreign, rather than something from her past. From her life before.

Somewhere in the background a timer dings loudly in the silence of the house. Sam registers that it is time to add one half cup of stock to the roast to keep it from drying out. But she doesn’t move back towards the kitchen.

The rest of the mail spills back to the floor and with trembling fingers Sam rips open the startling missive. A letter to the woman she had once been. She reads it quickly twice through, the heavy bond paper thick and uneven between her fingers. Lifted just so, the light streaming through the windows reveals a strange government water seal of sorts.

Any other day, or any other moment, she probably would have been more distracted by the flour under her nails than the vague offer of a job halfway across the country. She would have pressed the letter into the pages of her dissertation now collecting dust in the library and promptly forgotten about it. She would have picked up the mess in the hall and taken care of dinner.

But not this moment, not with this particular breath of air in her lungs. Maybe the difference is in the alignment of the stars or the bright glint of sunlight reflecting off her gleaming hardwood floor. Or maybe it’s the sick feeling in her stomach that she’s lived with so long that she barely notices anymore.

She spares a thought for the dry cleaners and the roast and her perfect rolls.

Stepping over the jumble of envelopes, she reaches for the nearest phone, dialing the unfamiliar number. She listens to it ring over the heavy pounding of her heart. Moments later a voice answers at the other end and she forces herself to respond.

“This is Dr. Samantha Carter.”


	2. A Mensa et Thoro

****“Come home, Sam.”

Jeff doesn’t understand.  He tries in his own way and it’s more than Sam thinks she deserves.  She almost wishes for anger rather than his seemingly calm acceptance that his wife of six years one day packed a bag and left him for a classified job for the U.S. military.  He’s patient, but he’s waiting for an explanation she can’t give.  Because even Sam has to wonder what the hell she is doing.

The SGC represents a world she had willingly left behind years before and every day she feels more and more like she doesn’t belong there.  She works the eight to five, spending most of her days in a bland lab reading acres of material about an object she couldn’t have theorized into existence even in her headiest days as an arrogant grad student.  When she isn’t trying to bend her brain around the concept that wormholes are real, she’s completing mindless tasks for Dr. Lee, the head scientist.  She does it without complaint.

Each evening she comes home to a sparsely furnished, lonely apartment and thinks of the home and life she abandoned for this.  She waits for the phone to ring, for Jeff to call.  He never presses or asks her for anything (though she sometimes wishes he would).  He just talks to her of his day and it’s hard for her to realize all this time later that he would have loved her no matter what she had done with her life.

She knows their therapist is probably telling him this is just a reaction to grief.  That her bizarre behavior is about loss, that it might just be temporary.  He’s only half right.  There is loss, certainly, but nothing about this is transitory.

She’s failed as Mrs. Fleming and so all she has left is Dr. Carter, something she never wanted in the first place.  But it’s her last chance and she can’t think of what might become of her if she fails at this too.

It’s harder and lonelier than she’s ever imagined and just the threat of failure is almost enough to make her walk away.  But then who would she be?

It’s strange, the one thing that keeps her moving; the memory of the feel of surprisingly cool naquadah beneath her fingers, a soft buzz traveling across her skin at the contact.  The Stargate makes wormholes real and somehow by extension _she’s_ no longer theoretical.  The things in her mind, the world she had once flirted with, this place makes them concrete.  And maybe it has the power to make her real too.

“Come home, Sam,” Jeff whispers at the end of his nightly call.

She can’t find it in her to tell him that she’s never going back, that he’s just another part of her failure.  But she thinks he already knows.

She lets the silence stretch long.  Seconds, minutes, hours later there is the softest sigh of regret followed by the gentle click of the line dying.

Sam lets go of the last of that life and finds there are no more tears left to shed.  She rubs her hands back and forth across her forearms and speculates what flying through space must feel like.

She wonders if she’ll ever get the chance to find out.


	3. Impression

She’s been in Colorado Springs for three months and her head is still spinning with what she’s seen, her brain overflowing with years of backlogged research. 

The scientists are a tight bunch and to be honest, Sam has very little on her CV to use as currency with them.  It will take time and effort to prove herself.  But she continually reminds herself that she isn’t here to win popularity contests, not that she is actually sure what she *is* here for.  For now she is content to catch up on the research, to listen more than talk.

The only times she is painfully reminded of high school are mealtimes.  She rarely manages to make meals during normal hours, so caught up in the feel of stretching her mind again, of losing herself in theory and what ifs for hours on end.  But every once and a while she unknowingly hits rush hour.  Like today.

She tries to laugh at herself standing with a full tray staring out over a sea of busy tables.  But it’s just a bit too much like old memories of never quite fitting in at school.  Logically she knows she can just plop down anywhere and no one will say anything to her.  But military brat or not, she doesn’t quite feel comfortable around the soldiers and she hasn’t really taken the time yet to get to know any of the scientists from the other departments.

Someone jostles her from behind with a muttered, ‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ and Sam decides that lunch in the lab is really the best idea.  She’s almost made it free and clear to the door when someone calls out her name.

“Dr. Carter?”

Sam turns around slowly, trying to maintain equilibrium of her tray and recognizes the speaker as Dr. Daniel Jackson, the fabled One Who Made the Gate Work.

She only realizes she is mutely staring at him when Dr. Jackson’s eyebrows crease over the rims of his glasses.  “It _is_ Dr. Carter, right?”

Sam nods gamely.  “Yes, of course, Dr. Jackson.”

He smiles.  “Wanna have a seat?  I’ve got plenty of room.”

She’s knows it’s stupid, but she’s more than a little surprised and honored by the invitation.  Dr. Jackson is known among the scientists as being somewhat aloof, but Sam thinks that maybe he is just charmingly unaware of his fame.

She gets jostled again and decides to sit before she makes a bigger fool of herself.  “Thanks,” she says as casually as she can manage.

Dr. Jackson smiles again and waves his spoon at her.  “So, how are you enjoying the SGC?”

“It’s…a lot to take in,” she answers diplomatically.  She’s sure the last things he wants to hear about are her fears and her concern that she may never make a contribution of significant size.

“Beginning to wish you’d never considered that bizarre out of the blue offer?” he asks knowingly.

Sam tries not to choke on her bite of salad.  “That obvious, huh?”

Dr. Jackson shakes his head.  “No…I just recognize that look in your eyes, because I used to see it in the mirror all the time.”  He absently stirs his soup, poking at various lumps.  “But overall, it’s worth it.  The good and the bad,” he says somewhat wistfully. 

Sam wants to ask what he means, but she isn’t unaware of the sadness lingering in his eyes, so instead she asks him about his latest research.  The distraction works and he is animatedly describing the temples on Abydos to an enthralled Sam when Colonel O’Neill loudly plops his tray down on the table some time later.

“Daniel,” he says tightly, glancing over at Sam.  “Found yourself a new egg-head playmate?”

Sam’s eyebrows crease in annoyance.  Egg-head?  She finds it startling how people can still fit into the basic high school categories no matter how old or ‘civilized’ they become.  And sitting before her now seems to be a prime example of the arrogant jock.

Dr. Jackson seems unfazed by Colonel O’Neill’s gruff rudeness.  “Jack.  This is Dr. Samantha Carter, Theoretical Astrophysicist. Sam, this Colonel Jack O’Neill.”

Colonel O’Neill absently waves a fork at her and Sam has the feeling that he has already forgotten her name, if he’d even bothered to listen to it in the first place.  Not that she’s too surprised.  She’s more familiar with this Air Force jock type than she’d like to be thanks to her father.

She shifts uneasily in her chair as Colonel O’Neill continues to stare intently across the table at Dr. Jackson.  Sam barely knows the man, but she can feel the dangerous energy radiating off of him, like he’s a tightly coiled predator.  But even as her own throat has closed off, Dr. Jackson seems merrily unaware as he continues to eat.

“I just saw Kawalsky in the infirmary,” Colonel O’Neill finally says, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Dr. Jackson absently looks up at him.  “Oh?” he says with incredible casualness.  “So you should know he is going to be fine.”

“Dammit, Daniel,” Colonel O’Neill barks, slapping his hand down on the table.  “It could have been much worse.  Next time someone could die!”

Sam reaches out to steady her coffee cup and circumspectly glances around at the room.  She feels like everyone should be staring, but activity in the commissary continues business as usual and she has to wonder how often scenes like this take place.

Dr. Jackson calmly puts down his fork.  “Jack.  Shooting first and asking questions later is not always the answer.”

“Maybe not, but following my orders is!” Jack snaps back.  “I’m only going to take so much civilian scientist crap from you, Daniel, and today you crossed the damn line.”

Sam is overwhelming reminded of the way her father used to act when she was in high school.  Such a cliché.  There’s just so much overblown military bravado that Sam can’t quite stop herself from letting out a breath of annoyance.

Colonel O’Neill instantly rounds on her.  “You have something to say, _Madam Scientist_?”

“Jack,” Dr. Jackson says with exasperation.  “Don’t be an ass.”

Sam is now certain that everyone in the room must be staring at her.  Dr. Jackson may put up with this man’s abusive crap, but Sam doesn’t have to.  She pushes to her feet and grabs her tray. 

“I seem to have lost my appetite,” she says with calm deliberateness, not wanting him to know how much he has upset her. 

She registers the tiniest flicker of something in the Colonel’s eyes, but she doesn’t linger to figure out what.  She’s walking out of the room and she thinks she hears him call out her name.  But she must have imagined it.

Because she’s sure he never even bothered to learn it.


	4. Impact

There is hot coffee trickling down the front of Jack’s shirt.

Dr. Carter is a few steps away looking horrified at their abrupt collision in the hallway and the loss of her fresh cup of hot coffee, but somehow he can read that she is also secretly satisfied.  He really shouldn’t find that as endearing as he does.

Jack shakes his hands, flicking liquid on the floor.  “Does this mean we’re even now, Dr. Carter?” he asks.

She’s surprised, her mouth falling open slightly, but she recovers quickly enough, her horror melting into lingering indignation.  “If you’re insinuating that I did that on purpose,” she begins to bluster and Jack raises his hands.

“I wasn’t _insinuating_ anything,” he says and her eyes narrow at his mocking tone.  “Just observing that you didn’t catch me at my best the other day and that maybe I deserve a little coffee spilled all over me.”

It’s a pathetic attempt at apology for his boorish behavior, but it’s the best he’s got.  He really hadn’t meant for her to get caught in the collateral damage of his endless fight with Daniel. 

She looks skeptical at his round about attempt. “I think it would it take at least a full pot of coffee,” she says archly, surprising him.

Jack struggles not to smile and says, “You want me to wait here while you run and get one?”

She tries not to, but he can see her smile in annoyed amusement, rolling her eyes at him.  He thinks that he likes her smile.  It’s so much better than that slightly lost look she’d had at lunch the other day.  The one he’d caused.

Then Jack realizes that he is standing in a dim hallway in the middle of the night admiring some genius scientist’s smile.  He is obviously losing it.

“Well, carry on, Doctor,” he says.  “I’m sure you’ve got important geek things to do.”

Her smile drops and she’s looking irritated again and Jack thinks that’s safer.

He’s walking away when she reaches out and grabs his sodden arm.  She looks startled by her own nerve, but then she blurts out, “Why do you hate scientists so much?”

Jack suppresses a sigh.  _This_ is exactly why he hates scientists. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks.  “I’m intimidated by your intelligence.”

She huffs unbelievingly and crosses her arms. 

Jack gets the feeling she won’t let him out of this conversation without an answer. 

“They’re unpredictable,” he says.  “They lack military discipline and I never know what they might do in the field.  That gets people killed.”

She looks deliberately around the empty gray hallway with one eyebrow raised skeptically.  “ _This_ isn’t the field,” she reminds him, an impertinent smile playing at her lips.

All levity quickly abandons Jack face.  He levels hard eyes on her.  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

He can just barely register her soft intake of air and he imagines she is shocked by his intensity.  But for some reason he doesn’t want her to make the dangerous assumption that she is safe here.  It’s better for her to be prepared.

Jack nods curtly at her and spins on his heel, leaving her standing alone in the hallway clutching her empty mug.

“What is it like?”

It’s late as hell and his rapidly cooling clothes are more than a little uncomfortable, but her voice is so achingly small that he can’t help turning back to look at her. 

“ _What_ is what?” he snaps, wanting nothing more than to be far away from this particular scientist.

For a moment it seems she will retract the question, but then she visibly straightens her back and looks up at him with unwavering eyes.  “The Stargate,” she clarifies.  “What does it feel like?”

Her eyes are wide with curiosity that hasn’t been dampened by his dark warning and for a moment she reminds him a bit of Daniel and his undisguised interest in all things.  He wonders what it would be like to still be so easily enchanted by life that way.  Personally, he barely pays attention to such mundane things as what the Stargate _feels_ like.

Nonetheless, he takes a moment to consider the tingle of newly reconstituted flesh, the swamping speed and light of racing through subspace, the flood of endorphins and adrenaline.  The nausea hand in hand with exhilaration.  There are probably some fancy words to describe those feelings, but Jack is not a wordsmith.

“Cold,” he says, deliberately provoking her.

She looks disappointed, but Jack doesn’t let himself care.  Then she turns away from him and starts down the hallway.

“Hey!  Where are you going?” Jack says, temporarily forgetting that he is _trying_ to get rid of her.  What does he care if he hurt her obviously delicate feelings?

“Getting a pot of _really_ hot coffee,” she calls back over her shoulder, not missing a step.  “I trust you’ll still be here when I get back?”

Against his will, Jack feels his lips curve into a smile at her unexpected reaction and for a moment he can’t quite remember why he hates scientists so much.

She disappears around the corner and Jack doesn’t hesitate to make a break for it.  He has no doubt she’ll be back with a particularly scalding pot of coffee and he has no intention of hanging around to prove himself right.

Damn scientists.


	5. Paper Sunshine

It’s nearly six o’clock and Sam is one of the only people signing out of the SGC for the day.  She left the rest of the scientists back in the lab, more than used to their workaholic ways.

Sam has never understood people who work with mindless zeal, people who put everything they have into a _job_.  She’s not self-deluded enough not to know where the attitude comes from, the child inside her that is still pissed at her father for caring more about his job than his family.

And when she thinks of what it almost cost them…

It’s a lesson Sam learned hard as a teen and something she fought against throughout her academic career.  But that had all changed when she met Jeff. 

The elevator doors behind Sam ding open, interrupting the rather unpleasant train of thought.

“Sam,” Daniel greets warmly as he leans over to sign out with the guard.

Speaking of workaholics…

Sam casts a critical eye over the archeologist, noting his mused clothing and the stench of stale coffee that seems to cling to him wherever he goes.

“Daniel,” she acknowledges.  “I’m surprised to see you leaving so early.”

He chooses that moment to yawn blearily.  “Tricky translation,” he mumbles.  “But Janet threatened me with a needle if I didn’t go home and get some real sleep.”

It’s only then that Sam realizes that Daniel is not just coming off a ten hour day, but likely a three or four day stretch.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Daniel squint against the light as they both step out into the parking lot.  It must be embarrassing, the way the sun is causing him physical pain after sitting in the darkness for so long.  She wants to ask him the last time he remembers leaving before the sun had long disappeared below the horizon, to ask him why he even bothers to keep an apartment. 

But she doesn’t ask.  Primarily because she’s heard about his wife and somehow that makes everything more excusable, petulant inner child or not.

As they walk towards their cars, a middle aged man in a dark suit seems to appear out of nowhere, striding towards them with dark sunglasses firmly in place.  Daniel surprises Sam by taking a protective half-step in front of her.  She doesn’t think she imagines the way Daniel’s hand unconsciously moves towards a non-existent weapon. She doubts he even realizes it.

The strange man _is_ inexplicably menacing, but the reaction from Daniel, a scientist, startles her momentarily and threatens to confuse her carefully constructed categories.

“Samantha Fleming?” the man asks as soon as he nears them.

As Daniel’s face betrays confusion, all Sam can think is: that name doesn’t belong here.  Not out in the brilliant sun, thirty floors above the Stargate.  Not when only minutes ago her mind was full of nothing but wonder and equations and not her failures.

Sam forces herself to nod at the man, ignoring Daniel’s raised eyebrows.

“That’s me,” she says, her voice calmer than she could have imagined.

The guy gives her a satisfied nod, shoves a packet of papers in her hands and says, “Have a nice day,” before walking off.

The papers are heavy in her hands and part of her already knows what they represent.  But that doesn’t stop her from breaking the official seal.  She’s not sure she could survive them in the stark loneliness of her apartment.

The paper is heavy and somehow familiar against her fingers.  She thinks it must be irony of some kind that this thick paper reminds her so strongly of the ones sent to Dr. Carter by the SGC all those long months ago. 

One set essentially ended her marriage.  These new ones end it officially.

Daniel, in a typical display of tact, doesn’t ask, even though it is painfully obvious that they are divorce papers.  He just offers to take her out to dinner, or drinks if needed.

It shouldn’t be a shock.  She was the one who chose this.  She did this to her marriage.

“Sam?” Daniel prompts quietly.

But Sam just shakes her head at the man whose life had seemed so empty just moments before.  Quickly backpedaling, she heads back towards the Mountain, mumbling something about forgetting a file in her lab.

The elevator doors free her from prying eyes and she sags limply against the cold walls.

She stays at the SGC for three days straight because suddenly it seems high time she accepted a long ignored truth:  Samantha Carter is incapable of halfway.  She doesn’t know the meaning of the word compromise.  She never really did.

 _And maybe_ , she thinks as her head lowers towards her keyboard out of pure exhaustion, _if you can’t beat them, you might as well join them_.

She dreams of sunshine and the distant echo of children’s laughter.


	6. Gravity

It’s not exactly Jack’s Best Day Ever. 

The fate of the planet is once again in the balance and it’s just another Friday at the SGC.  Except today the room is full of scientists all telling him ‘That won’t work,’ every time he opens his mouth, but none of them have any better suggestions.  Typical.

Adding to the overall crappiness of the situation is Cromwell, standing by Jack’s side, sending curious, tentative glances his way in between purely confused expressions at the scientists.  The last thing Jack needs today is this blast from his rather inglorious past.  Of all the people to come ‘rescue’ the out of contact SGC, it has to be the man who left him behind in the burning sands of Iraq.  Fate really has a sick sense of humor.

Jack must have audibly growled his displeasure, because the nearest scientist glances quickly up at him in alarm.  Jack rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the object of scientific absorption: the deceptively still image of Major Boyd, his mouth agape.  Jack hopes they are staring at the black scar in the sky behind the unreachable soldiers, but he can’t escape the feeling that they find Boyd and his team’s drawn out deaths fascinating.  Jack has to bite back a caustic reminder that Henry Boyd is a good man, not a science experiment. 

“Self-destruct,” Jack barks again instead.

At this point, most of the brain trust holed up in the small room looks unimpressed by Jack’s bluster.  He wonders when he lost his touch.

“There is no way to be certain that the explosion would destroy the gate.  Naquadah is incredibly resilient…,” Dr. Lee lectures, not for the first time, with heads nodding in sycophantic agreement on either side of him.

“More than likely it would in no way impede the expanding effects of the singularity,” chimes in another guy in a lab coat.

“We just need some more time,” Dr. Lee pleads and Jack has to resist laughing.  Haven’t they all spent the last two hours telling him that time is relative?

Dr. Carter apparently doesn’t have the same restraint, because she snorts rather inelegantly at Dr. Lee’s comment, not bothering to look up from the paper upon which she is actively scratching.

Jack raises one eyebrow in disbelief, once again unsettled by this woman’s ability to surprise him.  Especially since he almost managed to forget she was even in the room in the first place.  Not much of a talker, it seems.

“Is it too much to hope that you have an alternative suggestion, Dr. Carter?” Jack inquires.

Every head in the room turns in her direction and Sam visibly starts at the unexpected attention, her face draining of color.  She shuffles her papers nervously, purposely avoiding the gaze of everyone staring at her.

“I might,” she eventually says.

Jack doesn’t think he imagines the surprise on the faces of the other scientists.  Obviously this is out of habit for her.

“Do tell,” Jack drawls, pricking her temper before she can lose her nerve.

The barb must have done its job because her pale cheeks flush with anger and she pauses just long enough to glare at Jack before pushing to her feet, her papers now held in a death grip in front of her.

“Antarctica,” she pronounces, as if that is the answer to everything.

The other scientists begin to mumble, but Jack just looks unimpressed.

“Antarctica… Cold, as I recall, but having absolutely nothing to do with the problem at hand,” he says, gesturing at the screen.

Dr. Carter’s eyes flit to the monitor, her expression for a split-second revealing barely controlled horror. 

Jack’s brow creases, but Dr. Carter is already moving toward the whiteboard at the head of the room.  She erases the equations covering the surface, ignoring Dr. Lee’s sputtering protests.  In their place she draws two large spheres connected by an arrowed line.

“Last year, when SG-1 gated from P4A-771 to Earth, an unidentified surge of energy, most likely caused by enemy fire on the outgoing end, caused the wormhole to jump mid flight, sending Colonel O’Neill and Teal’c to the second gate in Antarctica.”

All of the scientists lean forward with unabashed curiosity and Sam’s words become more and more confident.

“Hypothetically we can do the same thing.  All we need to do is reproduce a surge of energy on our end of the outgoing wormhole to cause the gate to overload and the wormhole should jump.  Once connected to any other gate than the one attached to the black hole, we can shut it down as usual.”

Silence fills the room and Jack himself is shocked to hear such a short, intelligible explanation from someone wearing a white lab coat.  Isn’t there some sort of law against that?

“We can do that?” Jack asks eventually, breaking the silence.

She turns determined eyes on him.  “I think so.”

“We don’t have anything capable of producing that sort of charge,” Dr. Lee points out.  “And we have no where near enough time to build one.”

Jack feels hope fading once more, but Dr. Carter covers her nerves with a thin smile.  “Good thing time is relative then, isn’t it?”

“The surface,” Jack comments before he can really think about it.

Dr. Carter turns to Jack and gifts him with a brilliant smile.  “Ten points to the Colonel,” she notes dryly.

Jack raises one eyebrow at her in reluctant amusement before realizing that the rest of the room is still staring at them.  He scowls and turns to the rest of the room.  “What the hell are you all waiting for?  Get to it!”

The whole room scrambles to their feet, grabbing papers and heading to the surface where time was passing exponentially faster than down here near the gate, offering hours of work time in exchange for mere seconds.

Dr. Carter grabs her stuff as well, but takes a moment to pause by Jack’s side.

“Intimidated by our intelligence, huh?” she banters, apparently unable to let the chance to mock him pass by. 

Jack tries his damnedest to look fierce.

“Don’t worry, Colonel,” Sam continues conspiratorially, obviously immune to his glare, “I won’t tell anyone.”  Then she turns on her heel and follows the rest of the scientists to the surface.

Cromwell snickers quietly and Jack sends him a glare.  “Careful,” he warns.

To Jack, it seems like no more than ten minutes pass before Dr. Carter is back looking seriously sleep deprived.  She has with her a complex looking machine meant to focus a blast towards the event horizon.  She gives him fatigued assurance that this will work, and he finds himself believing her.

And then Jack and Cromwell are hanging horizontally by ropes.  The rest passes in a blur of adrenaline and fire.  Jack only remembers snatches.  Glass falling like piercing rain.  Cromwell letting go of Jack’s hand, in his last moments making the choice he hadn’t been able to years before.  Teal’c and Kawalsky’s faces as they work with frenzied motions to pull Jack up out of reach of the explosion.

And then just light, so painfully bright.

*     *     *

It worked.

The plan she brainstormed, designed and created saved the SGC.  Sam’s trying not to get lost in the heady feeling of accomplishment.  Proof that maybe she isn’t completely insane for taking this job in the first place.

She’s exhausted and probably pale, not to mention fairly certain she’s about to fall down, but a smile still breaks over her face as the adrenaline of actually making a difference travels through her body. It feels a little like coming alive after months of sleepwalking.

The only counter to her rush is the memory of shattering glass and a body tumbling towards the gaping maw of a singularity she had once only known in theory. She remembers the tug of intense waves of gravity, pulsing through her flesh and making her body crawl as if through drying cement. What Cromwell must have felt made all of that insignificant.

Her sense of accomplishment is rightly muted when she reminds herself that she may have come up with the plan, but she certainly didn’t implement it. That was left for those willing to make bigger sacrifices, those with greater strength than she can imagine.

Like Jack O’Neill.

She’s thinking of how he hung like a rag doll from the end of a rope while his teammates used every last drop of strength to pull him back from the erupting blast wave, remembering how his body had hit the wall with a sick crunch.

She came up with equations and translated them into the real world, but he was the one willing to die saving them.

None of this is what she expected when she signed on for this job where theoretical things like black holes, wormholes and heroes interact with her on a daily basis. For the first time, she lets herself believe that maybe she can be part of this.

Which is how she tries to explain away the fact that she is hovering outside the infirmary, listening to the sound of Colonel O’Neill’s voice as he talks to Daniel.  It _was_ her plan; she just wants to reassure herself that he will be fine.

Daniel almost slams into her when he finally exits the room and Sam can feel her face redden at being caught loitering.  Daniel just smiles at her though and steadies her with one hand.

“You look tired,” he says, rather diplomatically Sam thinks, knowing how awful she must look after nearly three days with no sleep.  “I’d say you earned some rest.”

Sam nods a little too emphatically and has to stop herself, remembering that exhaustion tends to make her loopy.

“I just wanted to make sure he’s going to be okay,” she says, backing away from the door.

Daniel stares at her and she has to look away, inexplicably embarrassed once more.

“Why don’t you see for yourself,” he replies with a smile before shoving her rather gracelessly into the room. 

Sam stumbles with a small squeal of surprise, barely catching the door jamb for support.

Jack’s eyes open at the noise and she can see him look at her in surprise before his eyes dart past her to Daniel.

“Night, Jack,” Daniel says cheerily before disappearing once again.

Sam is struck mute by her mortification at her impromptu entrance and just continues to stand, staring at Jack while sending mental daggers in the direction of Daniel’s retreating form.  Jack merely raises one eyebrow in surprise.

“So…,” he eventually notes. “Dr. Carter saves the day.”

She is inordinately pleased to hear him acknowledge her work, pushing off the doorframe and daring a couple steps into the room.  She’s still trying to think of something to say when he looks her up and down.

“You look like crap,” Jack announces.

Sam sighs and tries to remember why she was concerned about this arrogant blockhead in the first place.  Oh yeah, she was thinking he’s a hero.  Or something.

“That seems to be the consensus,” Sam acknowledges.  Her eyes travel over the bandages covering his hands and the angry red welts on his face that were probably caused by falling glass.

“You’re not looking so hot yourself,” Sam retorts, stubbornly shoving a stray strand of hair out of her eyes in an attempt to look more dignified.  It’s not like her to be so confrontational, but she’s too tired to wonder at it.

He stares blankly back at her and for a moment Sam worries that her words upset him.  Not the most sensitive thing to say to a guy who just about died to save your planet.  Never mind that he just insulted you.  She’s about to apologize when he grins at her and it’s only then that she dimly registers that he is having a go at her.  He’s lying in a bed after almost dying, and he’s teasing her, for goodness sake.

 _Stupid, dumb hero_ , she complains, even as she smiles dumbly back at him in sleep deprived confusion.

She doesn’t know where the strange urge to laugh comes from.  But it’s just one more sign that it’s definitely time to retreat and get some rest.  She waves awkwardly and backs out of the room.

She’s almost out of sight when she hears his voice float into the hall.

“Welcome to the SGC, Dr. Carter.”

The stupid grin stays with her until she falls asleep.


	7. Sangfroid

The alarms for an unauthorized off world activation sound not five minutes before Jack is scheduled for three days of downtime.  He pauses in the hallway, just steps from the elevator, telling himself that it is his sense of duty and not the fact that he has no meaningful plans for the evening that causes him to turn around and jog back to the control room.

“What’s up, Walter?” Jack asks.

“We have an incoming wormhole, sir, but no sign of an incoming traveler.”

Jack glances at the tightly shut iris.  “Okay…,” he drawls.  “I don’t get it.”

Walter just shrugs.

“All right.  Get Dr. Lee up here and figure it out,” Jack orders, settling himself in for a long evening.

Dr. Lee appears a few minutes later, with Dr. Carter in tow.  Jack smiles crookedly at her and she guardedly smiles back almost like she’s not sure if he’s just teasing her in some way.  He does nothing to disabuse her of the notion.  After all, he’s not quite ready to explain that he somehow feels better knowing she is here, fighting on their side.

Since the black hole incident, Jack has begun to see Dr. Carter’s name on more and more memos and reports.  Not that he ever reads any of them, but their very existence seems to demonstrate a fundamental shift in the doctor’s status at the SGC.  She has proven herself as someone who can contribute.

Not that he doesn’t still see her sitting quietly at the back of the room in most department briefings and emergency brainstorming sessions.  It’s just that now, when she actually does speak, people take the time to listen.  Although he swears he once saw her fetching Dr. Lee coffee.  As long as she isn’t dumping it on him, though, he tells himself that inner-department hazing isn’t any of his business.

So Jack isn’t exactly surprised (just a little annoyed) when Dr. Lee stays in the control room, checking the computers while he sends Dr. Carter down to take readings in the gate room.  The semi-new girl probably always gets stuck with the grunt work.  Not that she really seems to mind.  The woman apparently still has an unhealthy obsession with the gate, and Jack doubts she has ever gotten the chance to be this close to an active wormhole, closed iris or not.

Sure enough, she stares at the wormhole for long moments before she remembers to take any readings.  Unobtrusively, Jack signals for one of the standing guards to keep tabs on the scientist.  The airman nods in understanding and shifts closer, a smile of amusement on his features, though whether at the scientist’s obvious absorption or Jack’s protectiveness, he doesn’t want to hazard a guess.

“So, Doctor,” Jack says, turning his attention back to Dr. Lee.  “Any ideas?”

“Plenty of ideas, Colonel,” the doctor blusters and begins to lecture on things such as radio waves and super-conductors.  Jack just nods absently and listens with half an ear when it becomes clear that the scientist has no idea why this is happening.

Dr. Lee only stops talking when the unexpected sound of the iris grinding open fills the room.  Jack barely has time to register the airman roughly pulling Dr. Carter back from the wormhole before weapon’s fire fills the gate room.

Jack slams his hand down on the alarm.  “Get that iris closed, Sergeant!” Jack yells at Walter.

The technician’s fingers fly over the keyboard as he flinches with each impact on the glass in front of him.  “I can’t, sir!” he calls back over the din.

Just as abruptly as it began, the pounding attack ends.  Looking up, Jack sees nothing but bodies littering the floor of the gate room.  The wormhole still ripples calmly, belying the chaos that just ensued.

“Walter,” Jack says lowly.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says with a shake of his head.  “The iris isn’t responding to my commands.”

Just then a large black contraption breaks through the surface of the wormhole, floating gently just above the ground, seemingly moving under its own power.  It settles menacingly at the foot of the ramp, humming eerily at an ever-increasing pitch.

The device reaches a piercing whine and visibly pulses.  Jack feels the heavy thickness of a force rushing past him and everything around them erupts into a shower of sparks and electrical fires, monitors exploding and lights shattering.

“EMP,” Dr. Lee gasps from his position of hiding underneath the nearest desk.

“The gate?” Jack demands, but the mottled blue glow eerily flooding the room in dim light is enough of a confirmation that the wormhole is still engaged.

“Sir,” Walter calls abruptly, pointing out the window that is only partially covered by a half-lowered blast shield.  A lone figure steps on to the ramp, dressed in a funky suit and carrying a box.  He sauntered down the ramp, carelessly kicking the now useless EMP out of his way.

“Get the blast doors open,” Jack orders lowly to the nearest defense team, as dread begins to well inside him.  He doubts this visitor is here to do the SGC any favors.  They need to get into that room and stop whatever he might have planned.  “Now!”

With the power out, though, the doors prove to be a challenge.  Which was probably the point of the EMP.

Dropping his package to the ground, the intruder automatically looks up at Jack, waving at him.  “Well if it isn’t the infamous Jack O’Neill!  I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but these aren’t exactly the best circumstances.”

Jack stares at the man in shock.  Not only does he apparently know who Jack is, he also doesn’t seem to care that he has just killed a dozen of Jack’s men.  He’s standing there talking to Jack like they are old friends, for crying out loud!

“And you are?” Jack manages, nearly biting through his cheek in an attempt to talk benignly to this man.

“Aris Boch, at your service,” he replies with a small bow, removing his helmet.

Jack looks at Walter and the rest of his team that has miraculously materialized on either side of him.  None of them show the slightest bit of recognition.

“Who?” Jack asks, more than a little gratified when Aris looks annoyed.

“Aris Boch,” he repeats as if they are somehow slow.  “The famous bounty hunter?”

Jack shakes his head.  “Sorry, never heard of you.”

Aris grumbles something under his breath and begins to unpack the box he brought through the gate.

“Uh…Aris?” Jack asks, tapping loudly on the glass.  “Mind telling us what the hell you are doing?”

Aris apparently doesn’t mind.  “Oh, just a little gift from the System Lords,” he supplies.

There is no way that could be good.  “Bomb?”  Jack hazards.

“Virus,” the man corrects conversationally.  “Should render your whole planet uninhabited in a matter of days.”

Jack can’t really think of anything to say to that.  With jerky gestures he orders Kawalsky and Teal’c to help get the door to the gate room open.  Now.

“Boy,” Aris continues with a chuckle, “you guys must have really pissed the Goa’uld off.  I’d love to hear all about it, but I’m on a bit of a timeline here.”

“For someone who seems to know very little about the situation, you seem awfully ready to die with us,” Jack blusters.  Because if he is cut off from the gate room, Aris is just as much cut off from the control room.  There will be no way for the assassin to dial out while they are still alive.  Jack can guarantee it.

“Die?” the alien asks amusedly.  “Don’t be stupid.  I’m immune to the virus.  Sure the Goa’uld pay well, but it’s not like I’d die for them.”

Jack’s face must betray some of the absolute disgust he is feeling for the man’s casual disregard for an entire planet because Aris suddenly sighs and shakes his head.

“Look, I’ve got nothing against you guys, I’m sure you’re great and all.  But I’m just doing my job, so stop with the melodramatics.  I’m pretty sure it won’t hurt too bad.  There are certainly worse ways to die.”

On that bizarrely wistful note, Aris turns back to the machine he has pulled from the case, his fingers working on a keypad of some sort.  He studiously ignores any of Jack’s further attempts at conversation, refusing to let Jack buy more time for the airmen to break through the blast door.  Jack has to bite back a particularly nasty curse.

Jack’s just about run out of ideas when he sees her.  She’s straining to pull her legs out from under the body of the airmen Jack had ordered to watch her.  He must have shielded her from the attack.  Jack doesn’t even have time to feel relief as she presses shaking fingers to her protector’s chest, trying to stop the blood from flowing out of the man’s wounds.  Even from this distance, Jack can see that the man is already dead.

Jack silently wills her to lie back down and play dead before the assassin notices her.   Not that playing dead will save her if Aris gets that virus set off.

Sam does fall back to the floor for a moment, as if in defeat, but then he sees her hand exploring gently over the fallen airman’s body.  Before he can even wonder what the hell she is doing, she pulls the guard’s handgun out of his holster.

It is painfully apparent that she has never held a gun before this moment.  Her arms shake under the weight of the weapon and her grip is impossibly wrong.  But beneath the tears streaking her face is a steely determination that sends unexpected fission down Jack’s spine. 

She slowly (and silently, apparently, as Aris doesn’t seem to realize she is there) approaches the man from behind.  It takes her two hands, but she manages to cock the weapon, leveling it with his head.

“Stop it,” she says hoarsely.

Their intruder doesn’t look particularly concerned that she’s pointing a gun at him, but he does move away from the machine, at the very least buying them more time.  Jack hisses at his teammates to move faster.

Aris very deliberately looks Sam up and down, taking a few steps towards her, causing her to back up, nearly tripping over a prone body on the floor.

“Sweetheart, all I have to do is push a couple of buttons and you all die…,” he says patronizingly, gesturing back at his contraption.

At his tone, Sam’s back visually straightens and her fingers turn white around the hard metal of the gun.  “Can you be sure it will kill me before I have a chance to pull this trigger?” she retorts in a thin voice.

He grins, amused by her gumption, and begins slowly moving towards her, backing her further and further up the ramp.  “I don’t think you have it in you to kill me, princess.”

Sam’s hands begin to shake erratically as if in confirmation and Aris’s hands close over the gun, wrenching it from her hands.

“No more heroics, okay?” he asks before backhanding her harshly across the face.

Sam collapses, rolling partially down the ramp, just as one of the heavy blast doors finally groans open.  Kawalsky steps through first and zats the surprised Aris, but the man is seemingly immune to the weapon and lurches forward, back towards the box.  A wayward staff blast to his chest does nothing to slow him down either.

Out of nowhere, Sam’s leg thrusts out in front of Aris and he trips, falling hard to the floor, inches from his contraption.  Teal’c and Kawalsky are on the fallen man before he can make another attempt to reach it.

Teal’c presses his staff weapon up against Aris’s cheek.  “I assure you that I do have it in me to kill you,” he observes.

Judging from the look on Aris’s face, he has no problem believing the Jaffa.

And just like that, the situation is over, just as quickly as it began.

All around Jack, people lurch into action.  Aris is being not-so-gently led off to a cell somewhere, Hammond and a scientist are arguing what to do with the menacing virus box, and medics swarm the gate room in hopeful search for survivors.

In the control room, Jack overhears snippets of theories, Walter and Dr. Lee debating how Aris must have somehow hacked into the computer system to get to iris control.  In all honesty though, Jack isn’t listening.  His attention is instead on Dr. Carter as she slips quietly out of the room, shrugging off the attention of various medics.  The portable lights provide just enough illumination for him to see the blood staining her hair and the trembling of her fingers.

He doesn’t think twice of following her.

*     *     *

Sam beelines out of the gate room and slides down the nearest out of the way wall she can find.  Her knees pull unforgivably into her chest in hopes that someway, somehow, they can squeeze out the churning horror in her stomach.  Hysteria is rising in her throat, but she chokes it down, thinking of old pictures of her father, tall and proud in a uniform that she is only now beginning to realize came with unbearable claustrophobic weight.  Unspeakable things done and witnessed.

Her whole body aches and she feels like her cheek must be split open.  She can still feel the weight of broken bodies pressing down on her.  But most shocking of all is the buzz of electricity that seems to be pulsing through her veins.  It is something completely foreign.

She doesn’t know exactly how much time passes before Jack slides down the wall next to her.  His shoulder is solid and warm against hers, but he smells of smoke and blood and death and she can’t help the tears that force themselves to the surface.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually says, his voice low and softer than she believed him capable.

She sniffs quietly, wiping roughly at the tears she knows are a sign of weakness.  A silly civilian who obviously doesn’t understand the score, who couldn’t find it in herself to fire a gun.  Not even to save her entire planet.

She should be the one apologizing.

“You never should have been put in that situation,” he expands and Sam bites back a harsh bark of laughter.  He’s the one who warned her that for all intents and purposes the SGC is just as dangerous as the field.  Isn’t this exactly what he had meant?

She realizes he blames himself for her hysterics and she shakes her head adamantly.  “I’m fine,” she lies, trying to at least fake being brave.

He just stares back at her and she feels more than a little stupid.

Sam has to look away, closing her eyes.  But that is a mistake, because all she can see is them.  The bodies.  Death.  Murder.  She remembers her knees giving out under the weight of falling bodies and all she had been able to think of were her fingers covered in flour and the smell of wood polish.  The comfort and emptiness of another far away place.

She wishes she had never left.

But when she opens her eyes again, she is confronted by Jack’s rich, brown gaze and all she can remember is the uncomfortable weight of metal in her hand, bile on her tongue and her back, so ramrod straight, refusing to bend.

“Ever since I came here,” Sam says, “so many horrible things have happened.  Everything always seems to go so terribly wrong.”

She wants to wince at the way those words come out, but Jack just tilts his head to one side, his eyes crinkling slightly at the edges as he observes her.  “But?” he prompts, hearing her unfinished thought.

Sam swallows hard, trying to find the words and not being able to speak them.

Jack breaks eye contact and for a moment she feels adrift.  “It makes you feel alive,” he observes, staring at the ground.

Her mouth parts in surprise as this seemingly simple man puts his finger directly on the core of her flailing thoughts.

She felt alive.  She wants to vehemently deny it.  In those harrowing, terrible moments, in the uncertain and unfamiliar, she felt as if she were breathing for the first time.  Isn’t it wrong to feel such a rush in the face of death?  Because as much as everything is wrong here, nothing before has ever felt quite so right.

“I hate to cook,” she confesses unexpectedly to Jack, a man she barely knows.

Jack looks up at her in surprise, but then a crooked smile spreads over his face and she just knows he has no idea what she’s talking about.  How could he?  But he congenially bumps his shoulder into hers and she thinks that maybe it doesn’t really matter.

Because she feels alive.


	8. Strategery

Jack is on his way to the commissary when he registers the faint sound of Sam’s voice.

He hasn’t spoken to her much since the Aris Boch incident weeks ago, but it’s not like he really has a reason to talk to her or anything.  He certainly does not feel the need to see if she is doing okay with everything that’s happened to her; it’s none of his business.

Jack cranes his neck around and just catches sight of her, her head lifting automatically to smile self-consciously at him right before the whole gaggle of scientists disappears around the corner.  He wishes he could see if she’s blushing or not.  Maybe he’s sick, but the only thing more appealing than her blushing is her glaring at him.

Jack laughs quietly to himself and shoves his hands in his pockets, continuing on his way.

Unfortunately for Jack, he has completely forgotten that Daniel happens to be walking down the hallway with him.  But there is always hope that Daniel didn’t notice Jack’s temporary distraction.

Jack glances sideways at Daniel to see the other man smiling with barely concealed amusement.  Crap.

Time for some serious strategic planning.

Daniel doesn’t strike until they are hovering near the dessert selection and Jack has almost convinced himself that he is in the free and clear.

“You like her,” Daniel observes, mid-reach for a bowl of banana pudding.

Jack’s mind automatically whirs into motion.

 _  
Step One: Plausible deniability.   
_

Jack makes a sound of disbelief.  “She’s a _scientist_ ,” he says with the proper amount of disgust.  After all, everybody knows Jack O’Neill can’t stand scientists.

Daniel ignores the barb, holding his tongue until they have settled at their usual table.

“She’s also beautiful.”

Jack wonders if Daniel is truly deluded enough to think that he is subtle.

 _  
Step Two: A little misdirection never hurts.   
_

“Really?”  Jack asks.  “I hadn’t noticed.  Maybe you should ask her out.”

Daniel just stares back at Jack in hurt disbelief.

Oh, right.  Probably not the most sensitive thing to say to a married man who is desperately trying to save his wife.

Jack’s never really been good at this ‘feelings’ stuff.  Though in his defense, if he were still retired like he planned to be, it wouldn’t matter if he were an insensitive grump.  He’d be alone at his cabin right now.

Strange how that isn’t as appealing as it once had been.

 _  
Step Three: Avoid collateral damage.   
_

Jack waves his fork at Daniel in a way that only the linguist would be able to interpret as an attempt at an apology.

When Daniel rolls his eyes and shrugs, Jack knows he has been forgiven.

 _  
Step Four: Strategic retreat.   
_

Jack mentions the latest mission and actually listens to Daniel prattle on about his findings in penance.  The rest of the meal passes in boring, but safe, work-related discussion.

Jack is just enjoying his last bite of cake when Daniel attacks again.

“You know, she was asking me about you the other day.”

Jack lowers his fork to the table with deliberate casualness, making a vague sound at the back of the throat as if he has no idea what ‘she’ Daniel is referring to.

“Yeah,” Daniel continues, ignoring Jack’s pathetic attempt at subterfuge.  “We had a nice long chat.”

Jack doesn’t care.  He _really_ doesn’t care.  He doesn’t want to know what she asked and he really doesn’t want to know what Daniel might have told her.  Because it’s not like Daniel would tell her about the time he turned into a caveman or when he drank that stuff that made him take all his clothes off and sing.

Daniel wouldn’t do that.  Right?

Jack looks up to find Daniel smiling deviously.

 _  
Step Five: Fall directly into horribly obvious trap.   
_

“What did you tell her?” Jack demands before he can remind himself again how much he doesn’t care.

Daniel’s mouth pops open and he jabs an accusatory finger at Jack.

“You do like her,” Daniel chortles.  “I knew there had to be a reason you’ve been so much less of an ass lately!”

Jack stares at Daniel in abject horror as the archaeologist clears his tray from the table and makes a hasty exit from the room.

“I’ll have you know I’m just as much of an ass as I’ve always been!” Jack yells indignantly after Daniel.

By now, most of the room is staring at him while trying their best to look like they are not staring at him.

Jack stomps back up to the dessert tray, grabs an extra piece of cake and retreats to the hallway, studiously ignoring the laughter that spills out of the commissary after him.  
 _  
Step Six: Surrender your ground and fall back to safety in order to design ultimate prank to get back at annoying archaeologists._

Oh yes, Daniel will pay.

But even the drive for revenge doesn’t stop Jack from spending the next hour sitting in his office picking at his cake and thinking of ways to make Dr. Samantha Carter glare at him.

 _  
Step Seven:  Stop thinking about her!   
_

Yeah.  He might have to work on that last one.


	9. Inertia

_  
Everything is grey.  Even the air feels brittle and aged as it rattles roughly in Sam’s throat.  Under her feet, the floor is covered with some sort of viscous fluid, but she refuses to look down to confirm.  Instead, she begins to move faster, her bare feet slapping eerily in the silence.  She careens around a corner, catching herself on the corner of a towering concrete wall, but the material crumbles uselessly under her fingers.   
_

_Somehow this place has become a tomb._ __

_She seems to run forever, each long corridor simply morphing into another.  But eventually, she catches the sharp, fresh scent of pine and snow and bursts out into the surrounding forest, leaving claustrophobic walls behind._ __

_Crisp snow cuts painfully at her feet, but it is so much more welcome than the slick horror of the interior halls._ __

_At least until she finally breaks out of the trees and finds herself on the very edge of a bluff.  Far below her the landscape of Colorado stretches on forever._ __

_It is covered in bodies.  Piles and piles of lifeless rotting corpses._ __

_A scream rises in her throat and she slowly backs away from the edge, almost stumbling when she bumps into something._ __

_Aris Boch smiles pleasantly at her._ _   “Aren’t you going to use it?” he asks, nodding at her hand._

 _A gun appears suddenly, weighing her arm down painfully and threatening to pull her shoulder out of the socket.  Aris helps her lift the heavy load and points it straight at his head._ _Summoning unknown strength, Sam pulls at the trigger, feeling it snap uselessly._

 _“Too late now, princess,” he sneers.  “They’re already dead.”_ __

_She pushes angrily at him, but he crumbles under her touch, becoming nothing more than dust and ice._ __

_“You don’t belong here,” a voice says by her ear._ __

_She turns to see Jeff, face gray and peeling away, ravaged walking dead flesh._ __

_  
Sam submits to the persistent tug of gravity, kneeling down with her head in her hands and all she can smell is decay.   
_

Sam doesn’t jerk awake the way she always imagined nightmares were supposed to end.  Rather it is a slow suffocating struggle to wakefulness that leaves her lying for long hours in layered confusion, the dream and reality intimately entwined.  It is only with the first spray of daylight across her counterpane that she can carefully distinguish the two, and even then the horror lingers, the smallest trigger of light or sound or the way her toothbrush clatters against the porcelain sink enough to bring it all back to the surface.

She’s lost count of how many times during the day she finds herself reaching for the phone to call her father.

Jacob suffered nightmares her entire childhood.  Sam can still summon a vision of her father slouched at the kitchen table in half light, his shirt stained with terror raised sweat, and his head lowered into the cradle of her mother’s sure, soft hands.  Sometimes Sam curled up in the hall, lulled by the warm cadence of her parent’s voices, only to wake hours later in her own bed, the house silent and still once more.

She’d never really understood as a child, just aware that there was an unspoken menace that followed her father at night.  She wonders if it still does.

She wants to call him and tell him she finally understands.  Wants to fall asleep to the warm comfort of her parents’ voices and steady hands on her face.

Sam tries to imagine Jeff comforting her in their immaculate kitchen.

It doesn’t stick.

*     *     *

It takes Sam three weeks of nightmares to work up the nerve to finally approach Jack.  Not that she actively avoids him or anything.  Sure, she’s slightly embarrassed to have fallen apart in front of him, but it had been an extreme situation and she likes to think it could be forgiven.  She would like to forget it all together, but it is really her experience that day that has her hovering outside his office, her knock echoing abnormally loud in the empty hall.

“Come.”

Steeling her spine, she reaches for the doorknob and takes the plunge.

Jack doesn’t look up as she enters.  He’s sitting behind his desk with his chin propped up on one hand, staring intently at a mangled piece of half-eaten cake.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she says, causing Jack to finally look up at her.

He seems surprised to see her and almost knocks a precarious stack of files off the corner of his desk when he straightens abruptly.

“Dr. Carter,” he acknowledges, one hand casually slapped on top of the leaning pile of papers.  “What brings you to my little neck of the woods?”

After all this time, Sam still doesn’t quite know how to ask and she mentally stumbles a bit, shuffling from foot to foot.

Meanwhile, Jack has salvaged his papers and leaned forward slightly and is now looking her over intently.  Sam feels her face flush and she bites the inside of her cheek in annoyance.  She hopes he can’t tell that she hasn’t slept much in the last three weeks.

He leans back in his chair, abandoning his scrutiny and Sam almost sighs with relief.  “How have you been, uh, doing?  You know, since…,” Jack trails off awkwardly, waving his hand vaguely and not quite meeting her eye.

She wants to tease him about his discomfort, because he obviously doesn’t make a habit of asking people about their feelings, but instead something about the moment drags her back down and she finds herself on the gate room floor again with blood slick on her skin.

With abstract interest, she stares at her trembling fingers.  She doesn’t realize Jack has moved until his hand is on her arm, guiding her into a chair.  He’s half-seated on the front edge of his desk, hovering over her and all she can think is that at this distance he must be able see the black circles under her eyes.  She breathes slowly and waits for the garbled buzzing in her ears to fade.

“I’m sorry,” she manages, feeling weak and stupid.  “It’s just not what I expected.”

“What’s not?” he asks, his fingers still clutching her wrist.

Sam shrugs.  “The images…even the taste of them, don’t seem to go away.  I dream about them…those people….”

She hasn’t meant to admit this much to him and once again she thinks that she should have gone to Daniel with this, not Jack.  But Jack is the one who can give her what she needs.

She forces herself to look up at him and his face is as inscrutable as always.  She wonders if he ever has nightmares about the things he’s seen or done.  She doesn’t ask.

“You were right, when you warned me…this place _is_ just as dangerous as off world,” she says, trying to get back to the reason for coming here in the first place.

He looks guilty for a moment, but Sam isn’t here to accuse him of anything.

“I don’t think I could have done it,” she explains. “I don’t think I could have pulled the trigger on that man.”

Jack leans back, his eyes darkening.  He glances at his desk, his hand fluttering briefly on the back of his phone as if considering making a call, before forcing both of his hands to his knees.

He stares at the floor and says, “Killing is never easy.  It’s not supposed to be.  That doesn’t make you weak.”

Sam nods in feigned acknowledgement, because what he says makes logical sense.  But it doesn’t change anything.  She _is_ weak.

“I want you to teach me to shoot a gun,” she blurts out.

Silence reigns in the room for a full minute and Sam can’t quite bring herself to look at him.

“I know you are busy and the last thing you probably want to do is teach a civilian, a scientist, to shoot, but I don’t know who else to ask,” she blathers on before Jack can even react to her request.  She forces herself to look him square in the eye.  “I just don’t want to be that helpless again.”

“Okay,” he agrees unexpectedly.

Sam doesn’t think she imagines that he looks just as surprised by his acquiescence as she does.

“Really?” Sam asks, leaning forward eagerly.

Jack seems to consider it for a moment, his eyes darting around the room.  “Sure,” he shrugs almost defensively.  “I mean, why not?”

Sam smiles brightly at him, unbelievably relieved by his easy acceptance.  “Thank you so much.  I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” she begins, but Jack just waves her off, suddenly looking more than a little uncomfortable.

He urges her out of the chair and towards the door.  “Don’t thank me yet.  Undoubtedly you’ll prove to be completely hopeless."

Sam pulls her arm out of his grip and feels her eyes narrow at him.  How can he be so agreeable and helpful one moment and such an ass the next?

If he minds being glared at, though, Sam certainly can’t tell, because he just smiles triumphantly at her and ushers her out of his office with vague reassurances that they’ll set up the first lesson soon.

He really is the strangest man.


	10. Crash Course

The first gun lesson ends before it begins, the majority of the scientists forced into quarantine for three days after the newly arrived Dr. Felger manages to drop a viral sample in one of the labs.  The good news is the off-world virus isn’t particularly nasty, even if highly contagious.

Sam shrugs apologetically at Jack through the hermetically sealed glass when he comes to collect her.

Jack just grins crookedly at her and says, “Purple’s a good color on you.”

Sam fingers the purple spots staining her face and glares.

Jack is the one to derail the second lesson, appearing two days after his scheduled return dressed in bell bottoms and a doorag.

Sam pays twenty bucks to one of the security chiefs for contraband gate room photos.  She finds more amusement in them than she should.

The third lesson starts out much smoother, but Jack has barely gotten Sam into a room for a standard munitions lesson before her face drains of color.  She claims to have eaten something that disagrees with her.

Jack doesn’t buy it.

The fourth lesson takes place in Sam’s lab where Jack orders her to research the mechanics of propulsion weapons used by the US Air Force.  He figures that if she knows everything about guns in a very logical way, maybe she won’t be so scared of them.

Sam can’t quite hide her immense relief.

By the sixth lesson, Jack is tired of hearing long-winded reports about the origins of gunpowder and the chemical reactions of combustible materials on a molecular level.

The seventh and eighth lessons get bumped by SG-1 delays off world.

When Jack comes to reschedule the ninth lesson, Sam sighs and says, “Maybe we should just forget about it.”

Jack looks her straight in the eye and bluntly asks, “Have the dreams stopped?”

Sam’s gaze drops to the worktable.

“Next Thursday, 1500 hours,” Jack says.

Sam promises to be there.

The tenth lesson, Sam picks up the gun after brief hesitation, a strange look on her face.

“If only my father could see me now.”

There is something strangely confessional about being tucked away in the range, surrounded by the smell of oil and gun smoke.  Jack calmly shows her how to dismantle and reassemble the weapon.

“Doesn’t like guns?” he asks mildly.

“Career military,” she supplies, her eyes following the methodical movement of his fingers.

“Ah,” he says, handing the gun back to her.

“What?” Sam asks cheekily, reaching for the gun.  “I don’t seem the military brat type to you?”

Jack smiles, but wisely doesn’t answer.  “What branch?” he asks instead.

“Air Force, of course.  He was a Colonel, too.  Retired when I was fourteen.”

Jack makes a sound of casual interest, his eyes still intent on the gun in her hands.

Sam begins to clumsily mimic the steps he showed her, pulling the metal slowly apart, piece by piece.  “He spent my entire childhood trying to get me out to a range.  I think maybe he hoped I would follow him into the service, but I would have nothing to do with it.”

The gun sits in pieces on the table and Sam takes a moment to breathe before starting to put it all back together.

“It’s got to be some sort of irony that I’m here now, right?”

Jack reaches over to help her slide the last stubborn part into place.  “Dunno.  We can ask Daniel later.”

Sam laughs softly and places the weapon on the table.

“Good,” Jack says.  “Now try it again.”

The fourteenth lesson, Jack teaches her how to stand correctly and sight her target down the barrel of the gun.  He expects her to hold her breath the first time she fires, but instead he can clearly hear her mumbling the chemical equation for gunpowder.

The shot is wild, her stance crumbling under the pressure.  He reaches for her, her muscles under his fingers so taut that he fears they may snap.

“That’s enough for today,” he says, pulling his hands back.

She looks a little green around the gills, but nods slowly in agreement.

Sam misses the fifteenth lesson, but when Jack gets to her lab, all thoughts of lecturing her about loosing her nerve disappear when he gets a good look at her face.  Deep black circles under her eyes tell him that she hasn’t been sleeping.

She looks up to find him hovering in her doorway, guilt flashing across her face.  But before she can apologize for standing him up, Jack says, “Feel like getting a snack?”

“You buying?” she asks, her voice slightly tremulous.

“Only if you promise not to spill anything on me.”

Sam laughs lowly.  It’s a bit hollow, but Jack will take what he can get.

They both manage to miss the sixteenth lesson, waking up in disgusting, slimy alien pods to discover that they had all been replaced by camouflaged aliens bent on planetary dominance.

“Well, it certainly never gets boring around here,” Sam notes as she pokes around at the alien mimic technology.

During the seventeenth lesson Sam stands, still slightly awkward, forty yards from a target and squeezes the trigger.  Her arms feel like jelly against the kickback, but the bullet nicks the farthest edge of the paper, a good foot from the nearest outline.

“A hit,” Jack observes, a small edge of pride slipping into his voice.

Sam never expected to feel this sort of accomplishment for something she had once hated.

The twentieth lesson runs long and Daniel and Kawalsky storm into the range, impatient for Jack to finish so they can leave for their weekly team night.

“Hey, Dr. Carter,” Kawalsky says, waving goofily.  “Why don’t you come out with us?”

Sam mumbles something about an experiment she needs to check on before thanking Jack and slipping out of the room.

Jack has learned to read her well enough to know she is lying, but can’t quite figure out the why of it.

The twenty-first lesson ends with Sam landing four out of ten shots on the target paper.  She turns triumphantly to Jack and he can almost see some of her fear and panic leaking away.

“So apparently you aren’t completely hopeless,” Jack observes.

But Sam doesn’t glare at him; she just laughs softly and smiles at him.  “Thank you, Jack.”

Her hand is warm on his arm and Jack shifts uncomfortably under the weight of her gratitude.

“Don’t thank me yet, you’ve got a long ways to go yet.”

Sam shakes her head.  “I know, I know.  Same time next week?”

“Yeah,” Jack confirms as he watches her leave.

A large part of him hopes she doesn’t improve too quickly.


	11. Superlative Shenanigans

_Sam-  
Could you pick up sample 2X-347-7b from the biology lab and bring it to my office?  I think I’m on to something!_

 _-Daniel_

Sam balances the aforementioned sample in one hand and reads the email again as she kicks distractedly at Daniel’s office door.  It’s not that Sam minds helping out Daniel with his research, she enjoys the archaeologist’s company after all, she just can’t quite figure out what Daniel could want with the slimy substance now gurgling ominously in the container.

Sam tucks the email in one pocket and knocks impatiently at the door again.  “Daniel?”

The door cracks open and a hand snakes out, grabbing Sam and pulling her roughly into the office.  Sam stumbles into the room, hugging the container to her chest while her free arm automatically rises to a defensive position.

“It’s about time!” a voice exclaims.

Sam opens her eyes to find herself tightly ensconced in Daniel’s office with Jack.

“Excuse me?” Sam asks, blinking rapidly in the low light and trying to figure out what exactly Jack is doing in Daniel’s office.

“I sent that email over 20 minutes ago!” Jack says.

“ _You_ sent that email?”

It’s only then that Sam registers what Jack is doing in Daniel’s office.  A complex, rickety platform apparently made out of old pipes and an erector set supports a bucket right behind the door.

“Bucket over the door?” Sam hisses.  “Isn’t that a little childish?”

“Maybe if I was just going to fill it with water,” Jack says with an impish grin.

Before Sam can process that worrying statement, he reaches out and snatches the requested sample from Sam’s hand, dumping it carelessly into the bucket.

“Jack!” Sam cries.  “Are you insane?”

But Jack just hushes her, his head cocked slightly to the side as if listening for something before reaching out to snap off the lights, crack the door slightly ajar, and adjust the bucket carefully over the door.

“You can’t-”

Jack’s hand slapping over Sam’s mouth cuts off any further comment and he shoves her bodily into Daniel’s closet before following her in.  The doors are cracked open just enough for them to have a clear view of the booby-trapped door.

“What are you… _twelve_?” Sam mumbles against Jack’s hand.

He grins at her in the dim light, his face barely inches from hers.

Sounds in the hallway still both of them and in the next moment, the door to the office carelessly pushes open, revealing Daniel balancing a precarious stack of documents and a steaming cup of coffee.

“Uh-oh,” Jack whispers against Sam’s ear, but he doesn’t sound particularly contrite about the doomed documents.

The bucket, its support having been knocked down by the opening door, hovers indecisively for a few moments before tipping gracefully onto Daniel’s head.  Papers and coffee plummet to the ground, dropped by a sputtering Daniel covered head to toe in green slime.

And then, ever so slightly, Daniel Jackson begins to luminesce.

Sam can feel Jack’s stifled laughter reverberating through her back.

“What the hell is that?” Sam murmurs.

“A little something brought back from P2X-347 by SG-8,” Jack notes gleefully.

“So I guess you _do_ read the occasional report.”

Jack merely snorts softly in response.

Daniel, meanwhile, still stands in utter shock, staring at his glowing fingers.  And then, abruptly, he begins to twitch.

“What now?” Sam asks, alarmed by Daniel’s erratic movements.

Stifling another round of body-shaking laughter, Jack says, “It also makes you really itchy.”

That shouldn’t be funny.  Really.  One moment Sam is glaring disapprovingly at Jack, and then the next she has to turn her face into Jack’s shoulder in an attempt to smother the uncontrollable laughter currently crawling up her throat.

Somewhere mid-struggle to maintain her composure, Sam suddenly becomes aware that Jack’s hand has come up to cradle the back of her head, his breath washing warmly over her face.  She is hyper-aware of the small space of the closet and every point of contact between their bodies.

Sam pulls back as much as she can in the small space.  She opens her mouth to ask him if he is sure that stuff all over Daniel isn’t toxic, but the words die in her throat when she looks up to find Jack soberly considering her.  His fingers curl softly in her hair.

They stare at each other for long moments until Daniel’s yell booming through the office breaks the moment.

“JAAAACK!” he screams before rushing out of the office and down the hallway.

Sam wastes no time pushing back out of the closet, careful to avoid the glowing pool on the floor.  Clearing her throat, she says, “Dare I ask what Daniel did to deserve that?”

Jack shrugs.  “It’s a team thing.”

Sam laughs softly, trying to ignore that it sounds slightly forced.  SG-1 and their crazing bonding practices.

“Well,” she says, brushing off her lab coat, “I hate to see what he’s going to do to you in retaliation.”

Jack gifts her with a lopsided grin that makes her fleetingly wish to be back in the cramped closet.

“Why do you think I had you check out that stuff under your name?” he asks cheerily.

Sam doesn’t usually swear like a sailor, but it seems like the appropriate thing to do.

*     *     *

The next morning, Sam enters her office to find every single item on her desk carefully superglued to the surface.

“It’s a team thing,” she whispers to the empty room.

All she can do is smile.  



	12. Sway

Sam is bored.

She’s been working on a diagnostic for Dr. Lee on his most recent design for a naquadah generator for almost five hours straight now.  The results are always the same, and always will be until several fundamental flaws with the design are dealt with.  But Sam isn’t quite ready to stand up in a head to head battle with the head of the department, good intentions or not.  She wishes she didn’t have such a strong work ethic though, or she would just blow off what she knew were useless tests.  But she promised to finish them, so finish them she will.  
 _  
Hi, I’m Doormat Carter, nice to meet you,_ she thinks sardonically.

Sam stretches languidly, feeling her shoulder pop.  To be fair, things at the SGC were pretty smooth these days.  There haven’t been any alien incursions for at least two months and Sam hasn’t had a nightmare in two weeks now.

Not that she ever forgets.

She’s just allowing herself the luxury of feeling slightly optimistic.

One more diagnostic cycle, she promises herself, then down to the cafeteria for a well deserved snack.  Glancing at her clock, she registers that she has exactly three hours until her next lesson with Jack.  Should be the perfect amount of time.

But Sam hasn’t even finished setting up her equipment when a shadow falls across her workspace.

“Daniel,” Sam says warmly, looking up at her guest.

Having not seen him in almost a week, she casts a critical eye over him, noting the dark lines of exhaustion etched into his face that are typical of a returning SG team from off world.  She’s seen him tired before, sometimes covered in mud or arm in a sling, but there is something more today, a heaviness to his shoulders that Sam has never seen before.

Inexplicably, Sam feels fear tighten across her chest.

“Sam…,” Daniel draws out slowly, something indefinably terrifying lurking in his tone.

Sam shakes her head, slowly backing away from Daniel and whatever it is he’s trying to tell her.

“It’s Jack.”

An odd buzzing fills Sam’s ears as she continues to watch Daniel speak, hearing none of his words.

It’s strange how everything always goes so terribly wrong just as you finally begin to let yourself relax, she ponders.  And somehow, it always comes from an unexpected direction, your greatest, most carefully hidden weak spot.

Maybe she’s foolish, but Sam never really considered this scenario, never considered someone on SG-1 not coming back from their insane adventures.  And she’s not sure which is her greater sin, ignoring the obvious danger in Jack’s daily line of work, or failing to recognize that loosing him could make her feel…so completely winded.  When, exactly, had she become so dependent on him?

Daniel’s fingers are biting into her shoulder, but she doesn’t mind the pain.  She forces herself to look up at him and focus on his words, clinging to them in an attempt to regain her equilibrium.

The tale is a fantastic one about ‘fire rain’ and a planet’s collision course with an asteroid belt.  A gate buried in an impact crater.  A planet called Edora.

Not dead.

She clings to that one fact and the buzzing begins to recede, allowing her brain to latch on to the problem, spinning into motion.  “We can still dial in to the Edoran Stargate.”

“Yes,” Daniel replies.  “But we can’t get any readings from the MALP.  Like it never made it to the other side.”

“Maybe it didn’t,” Sam automatically replies, still on autopilot.

Daniel looks encouraged, gesturing for her to continue.

Sam pushes to her feet and begins to pace.  “If, as you say, the gate has been buried by debris, but maintained its open connection during the meteor’s impact…there may be just enough space for the wormhole to connect, but not enough room for objects to rematerialize.”

“Like our iris,” Daniel says.

“Exactly.”

“There has to be a way to get around that, right?  A way to break through it or bypass it?” Daniel asks, eagerness beginning to override his earlier despair.

Sam’s fingers itch to pick up a pen, to begin scribbling fantastic theories, but her eyes fall on Dr. Lee’s naquadah reactor.

“I knew that if there was anyone who could figure this out…,” Daniel says, holding out a folder to her.

Sam doesn’t reach for the folder.  She’s still trying to digest all of the information being thrown at her and Daniel’s…what?  Asking for miracles?  “Daniel, I’m not…  Have you spoken with Dr. Lee?”

Daniel’s face creases, his lips pressing into a thin line as if trying to think of the most diplomatic way to say his next words.  “Maybe you haven’t been here the longest, Sam, but everyone knows that when it comes to the ‘gate, you are the expert.”

Sam opens her mouth to disagree, but she can’t force the well-rehearsed words with Daniel looking at her with such expectation.  Her obsession with the gate is near legendary.  She’s made it her business to know more about Stargate technology than anyone else on this planet.  Her inherent, inexplicable hesitation is still there, though, the same weakness that always forces her to the back of the room, always silently following.  Never leading.

She’s fixed things before.  She knows this shouldn’t be any different.  It should be easier, even, if anything.  This isn’t the whole planet.  It’s just one man.

Just Jack.

She doesn’t know why that just makes it seem even more impossible.

Daniel is talking again, pleading, but Sam isn’t listening.  Maybe he’s trying to remind her that Jack is a hero, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice himself for any one of them.  She’s always known that about him, but today it doesn’t matter., because she’s not thinking of the gung-ho Colonel.

Somewhere, somehow during the last weeks, months, she’s stopped thinking of him as a hero.  He’s the guy who smirks at her across the hallway.  The teacher who is more patient with her feeble attempts at pretending to be a soldier than anyone has the right to be.  He’s the friend who somehow always knows how to make her laugh and can make her forget any worry with a single juvenile comment.

She can still feel his shoulder, solid and warm next to hers when she was threatening to topple over the edge.

So no, she doesn’t feel any pressure to step out her cloister to save Colonel O’Neill, CO of SG-1 and all-around pain in the ass hero.

But maybe…maybe she can do this for Jack.

“Leave me the report,” Sam says before she can reconsider the step she is taking, or fully explore the feelings she is inadvertently acknowledging.

Daniel can’t hide his relief.  “Jack…I know he would never say it, but he trusts you.  He felt better knowing you were here.”

Sam knows that is somehow supposed to make her feel better, but all it does is lend the walls of her small lab claustrophobic intensity.

She isn’t ready to have it be all up to her.


	13. Putsch

The Edora Problem, as it comes to be known, remains on Sam’s whiteboard long after the other scientists have claimed it to be unsolvable.  The iris is an impenetrable defense, they conclude, which may be a knock of bad luck for Jack O’Neill, but is the last thin veneer of safety provided for the fragile planet known as Earth.  As a trade off, most people think of it as a negligible loss.  Sam suspects they just can’t handle finding a weakness in their precious safety net.

Jack is not a negligible loss for SG-1.  Even as the weeks bleed into months and there is talk of assigning replacements, Sam knows they still hold out hope.  Daniel is their spokesperson, routinely visiting Sam in her lab at least once a week.  He doesn’t ask about Edora, but she knows that is why he is there.  She’s seen Kawalsky storming out of Hammond’s office, Teal’c sedately on his tail, knowing that the two men have once again been told that Jack’s MIA status is immutable and that there are simply no more resources available for an unsolvable problem.  What does one man matter when they are in the middle of an unwinnable war?

What Hammond and the other scientists don’t know though, is that Sam hasn’t given up either.

The Edora Problem has been designated as nothing more than a theoretical problem of academic interest and tossed into the bottom drawer to be studied at some future date.  That’s fine with Sam, because while she continues to work, slower than ever, on Dr. Lee’s flawed naquadah reactor prototypes, she lets her mind run free, her eyes glued to that whiteboard.  Maybe it’s purely theoretical, but that’s what Sam Carter does.  The wild imagination she’d once considered such an undesirable trait is now serving her well.  Even in weekly department meetings she simply sits in the back and scratches out ideas on yet another legal pad.  People have long since stopped expecting her to participate.  Sam doesn’t care if she is ruining her reputation.

She has to find this answer.

It’s more than two months before the solution finally comes to her one day as she sits in the firing range breathing in the smell of gun oil.  It’s not so much a eureka as a final small piece clicking smoothly into place that leaves her breathless, numbness tingling in her fingers.

Another month is spent working out the numbers, squeezing out the proofs that support her wild leap.  She needs the evidence, because she already knows what most people will say.  This is a dead project.  We might as well try to build our own interstellar spacecraft, it would be easier!

But they don’t have ships.  They have no way to reach that planet other than through that Stargate.  So what they do have is Sam’s idea.

It will be enough.

Not until every equation is perfectly balanced does she approach Daniel’s office.  He looks up at her, his smile easy and unsuspecting, so similar to her own reaction three months before.  And just like Daniel had done to her, she’s about to tilt his world once more.

“I’ve got it,” she announces without preamble.

Daniel stills mid-motion, one hand reaching out for a book, his eyes locked on the file Sam holds in her hand.  The reaction makes her wonder if he has actually allowed himself to give up, if three months of continual hope is too long.  Just when Sam is certain that he will be rooted motionless for eternity, he bursts into a whirlwind of action, almost spilling papers to the floor.  He grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, darting out of his office door.

He catches himself just as he passes the threshold, turning back to Sam.  He squeezes her shoulder and plants a giddy kiss on the side of her face.  “I knew you could do it, Sam.”

And then he’s gone.

Sam settles down in a chair, finding a moment of rest, knowing that the answer to this question is only the first hurdle.  She’ll need SG-1 for the next.  And maybe a small miracle or two.

But Daniel’s gratitude is still warm on her skin, and Jack is one step closer to home.

For today, that’s enough.

*     *     *

Sam walks into the department meeting purposely ten minutes late.  Everyone is already seated and Dr. Lee stands at the front of the room.  Sam’s usual chair sits empty near the back of the room, but she doesn’t move towards it as awareness ripples through the room.  One by one people turn in their seats to look back at Sam.

Inadvertently, Sam takes one small step back, but Daniel is there, his hand reassuringly firm against the small of her back.  Sam can feel the rest of SG-1, hovering behind her, a blatant sign of solidarity and support.

Dr. Lee eventually realizes he has lost the attention of his audience and turns as well, his pen still mid-equation.

“Dr. Carter,” he acknowledges.

Daniel is the one to speak, which is fortunate, because Sam isn’t sure she can trust her voice.  She solved the problem, but in no way had she signed up for this: a showdown in a briefing room full of her peers.

“We’d like you to revisit the Edora Project,” Daniel announces.

Half mumbled whispers rumble through the room, but Dr. Lee ignores them, saying, “That project was closed months ago.”

Kawalsky steps up next to Sam.  “Then re-open it,” he demands.

Daniel glances sideways at Kawalsky in exasperation.  “We’d just like you to give Dr. Carter a chance to share her research.”

Dr. Lee’s eyebrows lift at the mention of Sam’s research and she shifts uncomfortably.  As far as he has been aware, she’s been doing nothing but rather sub par work on the reactors.  She’s not proud of deceiving him.  There just hadn’t been any other way.

Daniel’s hand pushes Sam slightly forward and suddenly she’s striding towards the white board, not pausing until she is standing across from Dr. Lee.  For more than two years Samantha Carter has been content to sit in the back of the room and follow Dr. Lee’s lead, to be little more than his glorified lab assistant.  She’s never been interested in titles or positions of power.  She still isn’t.  She’s just finally realizing that here at the SGC, the stakes are too high for her to sit back any longer.

She knows there will be whispers about why she is so obviously obsessed with this particular case, but Sam can’t bring herself to care, not when all she can think about is Daniel, standing so heart-breakingly hopeful in her office, telling her that Jack trusted her.

She never set out to stage a coup, but today, in front of the entire science department, she stretches out her hand to Dr. Lee, her face the picture of determination and implacability.  His hand clenches compulsively around the whiteboard pen, his eyes darting to assess their audience who is watching them in stunned silence, but Sam has no room to feel sorry for the man.  He is brilliant, just not brilliant enough.  Not today.

“Bill,” Sam says softly and the other man’s head drops ever so slightly.

He passes her the pen and steps aside.  Sam doesn’t allow herself even a moment to dwell on her triumph.  It doesn’t mean anything anyway.  All that matters is getting the job done.

“This is what I have come up with,” Sam says, sketching quickly on the board.

As a one, the whole room leans forward in their chairs as her plan takes rough shape on the board.  Their shocked silence doesn’t last long as they start to call out questions and ask for proofs.  Sam calmly supplies them with answers stringently prepared in the preceding weeks.  She hears whispers of ‘impossible’ and ‘snow ball’s chance in hell,’ but at the back of the room Daniel is standing with his arms crossed, exuding buoyant confidence.  And when Sam finally works up the nerve to glance at Dr. Lee, he is nodding slightly, not bothering to hide that he is impressed.

“Can we build this?” he asks, meeting Sam’s eyes across the whiteboard.

“Yes,” she answers, adrenaline still vibrating throughout her body.  “Yes, we can.”

He searches her face for something, maybe puzzling together her behavior these last months.  Sam gets the feeling that he is _really_ looking at her for the first time.  Whatever he sees, he seems convinced, because he nods and says, “Let’s go talk to Hammond.”

They walk out of the room together, leaving forty scientists pouring over a whiteboard covered with revolutionary theories.  He lets her enter Hammond’s office first.

Sam has always known Bill Lee is a good man.  But only at this moment does she truly realize exactly how much.

She just hopes she doesn’t let him down.


	14. Temporal Dissonance

There are times Sam feels like giving up and bowing to the law of physics as the victor.  She tells herself that she doesn’t because she has to prove herself worthy.  She needs to prove herself to Dr. Lee.

But it is an elusive rationalization, one constantly belied by Bill’s unwavering support, even as weeks bleed into months.  He sees greatness in Sam’s ideas and his absolute love of this world they play in trumps any mundane matters like egos or pay scales.  She leans on him more than she probably has right, but he has the practical experience she needs to translate these fantastic theoretical leaps into the concrete world.

In the end, it is clear to all that they are an amazing team.

It’s still six months before she even has a working prototype ready for the most fundamental tests.  The members of SG-1 have already long since moved on to new duties, Kawalsky being promoted and moved to command of his own team.  Daniel mostly stays on base working on an endless backlog of research.  As for Teal’c, Sam honestly doesn’t know.  She’s heard mention that he is lent out to various teams, but that he refuses reassignment.  Daniel says it’s a sign of the Jaffa’s confidence in Jack’s return.  To Sam, that is just another life hanging in limbo, another weight pressing down on her shoulders.

And in the back of Sam’s mind, she has to wonder what kind of world they were bringing Jack back to.

None of that impacts Sam’s research.  She doesn’t let it.  Although she suspects she owes General Hammond’s continued latitude more to Bill and Daniel’s influence than her own immutable stubbornness.

Another four weeks pass before Sam manages to convince the right people that her particle beam generator is ready.

Time is often the enemy of the SGC.  Sam has learned that lesson quickly here.  There is never enough of it as people’s lives hang on the line.  Viruses running their course without a cure in sight, the self-destruct ticking off towards the point of no return, or the iris sliding shut at a speed inconceivably slow by all laws of physics when it matters most.

But never has it been more of a factor than while Jack is lost off world.  For months time has bled away at an alarming rate, slipping by at the speed of light while the work crawls, stubbornly refusing to budge.

Sam doesn’t really understand the true perversity of time until the night before the scheduled use of the generator.  At 0800, they were going back to Edora.  But now, five hours before that long awaited moment, Sam remains wide awake wondering if they had somehow wandered into some sort of a time distortion field.  She glances at her clock, glowing softly in the darkness and turns over restlessly in her standard issue cot.  She’s used to working on little to no sleep at this point; she’s even become a bit infamous for it.  But she tonight isn’t losing hours in the rush of work or problem solving.  Tonight, time has slowed to an indeterminable rate and sleep is nowhere to be found.

Each second seems to last an eternity as Sam lies there, staring at the ceiling, thinking of all the things that could go wrong.

“I hope I don’t blow up the Stargate,” she mumbles, one hand thrown across her face.

She glances at the clock again, confirming that only two minutes have passed.  Sighing, she pushes up from the cot, throwing back the blanket.

She can sleep after they get him home.

Wandering the halls at three in the morning proves that the SGC never truly sleeps.  People walk sedately in the halls, and even more sit in the commissary.  Sam pauses there momentarily, but she can’t remember the last time she felt hungry and she seems to have rendered coffee completely ineffectual through overuse, so she passes by the brightly lit room.

It shouldn’t really be a surprise that she ends up in front of Daniel’s lab.  The door is slightly ajar and rich, flickering light is visible inside.  Sam smiles, slowly pushing the door open wider.  She should have known he would be awake as well.

Inside the room though, the first thing Sam catches sight of is Daniel scrunched up on his small couch, papers sprawled on his chest and his mouth hanging slightly open.  He’s not exactly snoring, but his heavy breathing fills the room.  Sam stares enviously at him for a moment.  It would be nice to sleep.

She considers finding someplace to settle down in his office herself when she finally notices the source of the oddly flickering light.  Around the edge of the door at the other end of the office sits Teal’c surrounded by at least a dozen candles.  He is sitting cross-legged, his back perfectly straight, but his eyes are closed and his breathing is long and even.

Sam can’t help but stare for a moment.  She has never had much interaction with Teal’c.  She knows he is a member of SG-1, a close friend of Jack, Daniel and Kawalsky, but to be honest he still scares her.  He’s an alien after all.  She knows he has one of those _things_ inside him.  And as if that isn’t enough on its own, the man is enormous and gives the word laconic new meaning.

Sam trusts him, of course she trusts him.  He’s a member of SG-1, but that doesn’t keep him from intimidating the hell out of her.

She carefully backpedals, hoping to escape back out into the halls, trying to ignore the warm appeal of the office.

“Dr. Carter,” his low voice calls out.

Sam turns back to see Teal’c sitting in the exact same position, eyes still shut.  She’s beginning to think she imagined the voice when he finally calmly opens his eyes, regarding her across the room.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Teal’c, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she manages to stutter.

His face shifts slightly in what Sam might guess is a smile.  “Are you unable to rest?”

Sam glances around uncomfortably, eventually shrugging.  “I thought Daniel might still be up.”

“I replaced his beverage with an un-caffeinated version,” Teal’c replied in explanation.  “I thought it best that he be well rested for the mission tomorrow.”

Sam is surprised enough to almost laugh, but he looks so serious that she doesn’t dare.  Maybe it’s the candles creating a false sense of intimacy, but suddenly Sam wants to ask the Jaffa why.  Why he gave up everything to come here.  Why he has been content to merely wait the last seven months when everyone had told him hope was gone.  He’s put everything on hold, waiting for Sam to give him a miracle.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says instead, lacking the nerve to pry.  “I’m sorry I’ve made you wait so long.”

His eyebrow lifts majestically, and Sam has no idea what that particular gesture might mean.  She’ll have to ask Daniel for a Teal’c to English dictionary someday.

“I have waited because O’Neill trusts you, as do I.  Tomorrow he will be back once more.”

He sounds so sure that for a moment she allows herself to believe it might be true.

Daniel mumbles quietly in his sleep and Teal’c looks over at him, a peculiar expression on his face.  For once, Sam doesn’t need a translation.  And she knows that Teal’c hasn’t waited all this time out of stubborn faith in a pipe dream or her scientific abilities.  His face, once seemingly so emotionless to Sam, now exudes protectiveness and unbending loyalty towards his sleeping teammate.

She tries to remember why she once found him frighteningly inhuman.

Sam slides down the nearest wall, hugging her legs into her chest.  Teal’c nods solemnly at her across the flickering flames, accepting her presence, his eyes sliding shut once more.

Together, they wait out the final hours. **  
**


	15. Seasons

Standing in the gravel filled crater with his arms nearly numb from frantic digging, Jack can’t conceive of a way to be rescued.

Admittedly, he can’t remember precisely how many light-years stretch between Edora and Earth, but as long as it’s further than a couple thousand miles, the distance trumps whatever space capabilities Earth has.  Space shuttles are a joke.  Apophis lending them a mothership is more likely than the Tau’ri achieving interstellar travel.  And something makes Jack think Apophis isn’t quite that generous.

If the gate truly isn’t somewhere under all of this debris, Jack knows he is stuck here on this backwards planet.  Most Edorans have never traveled more that ten miles from the village in their entire lives.  They are a simple people, uninterested in explanations about meteor belts and wormholes.  All they understand is that more than half their village has disappeared into a seemingly supernatural portal, never to be seen again.

And they all think it must be Jack’s fault.

It has been made abundantly clear that he is not welcome in the village.  So Jack sets up his tent in the small crater and spends his days digging.

It takes two weeks for the inevitability of the situation to sink in for the villagers.  If anyone is to survive the next winter, every man, woman and child need dedicate themselves to the fields.  Even the outsider.

Garan is the one to come to Jack, asking him to put down his search and join the labors of the others.  Jack doesn’t have it in him to say no.

It’s Jack’s seemingly inexhaustible dedication to the fields that finally earns him acceptance in the village.  They don’t understand that working himself into exhausted slumber is the only way he can keep from thinking of everything he’s lost.

Out of the corner of his eye, he keeps catching the ghosts of his teammates.  It’s too quiet without Daniel’s voice, too exposed without the solid presence of Teal’c.  He finds himself calling out an order to Kawalsky, only to swallow the words.

He looses count of the number of times he’s overwhelmed by the feeling he’s forgotten something important, like a constant surge of startling adrenaline.  He always glances quickly around, but has no idea what he’s looking for.

Eventually he moves in with Garan, the young man having been separated from his mother during the evacuation.  Looking out for the defacto orphan becomes a natural job for Jack.  Garan claims he is old enough to care for himself, but that the house is too large for just one.  Whatever the boy’s reasons, Jack moves into a homey room on the first floor that smells faintly of pressed flowers and candle wax.

Jack doesn’t count the days, not really seeing the point.  He just works and sleeps, not sparing a moment to think about the fact that he had once walked through the stars.

*     *     *

The harvest festival marking the last day of autumn is the first time Jack finds a moment to actually reflect on what has happened to him and he’s startled to realize just how much time has passed in a haze of labor.  He can’t even feel pride in the newly stocked root cellars or the quiet confidence of the village that they would pass a comfortable winter.  Not when it means facing endless days of seasonal immobility.

“It has been 230 solar days since you arrived,” Garan absently informs Jack in between gulps of local brew, his eyes never leaving the lithe forms of the village girls dancing around a large bonfire.

The young man wanders off, completely unaware of Jack’s shock.  He’s done his best not to think of it, but on the last day of autumn, Jack finally realizes that he always expected to be gone before this.  He expected to be rescued.

Because he’s never believed impossible to be beyond her.

It’s carried him, unknowingly, for more than two hundred days.  But he’s just not sure that faith will survive the winter.

The next morning, while the villagers sleep off months of exhaustion and an evening of celebration, Jack loads a wheelbarrow with pickaxes and shovels and returns to his lonely tent on the ridge.

He’s not ready to give up on Earth.

*     *     *

The snows set in much earlier than the villagers expect, but Jack still refuses to return to town.  Garan comes out sometimes, to keep Jack company or bring him food.  Occasionally he even picks up a tool and helps Jack dig for a couple hours, but the hole Jack has carved out is now more than twice his height deep, with no evidence of the Stargate.

Garan begins to look at Jack with concern, no doubt fearing for the older man’s sanity.  Jack isn’t ready to explain that digging is the only thing keeping him sane.  Sitting in the village with the other men, whittling wood and swapping stories… _that_ would be the death of him.

Garan walks back to the village, leaving the outsider to his trench.

*     *     *

Months of inactivity can’t kill years of finely honed instincts and Jack jerks instantly into wakefulness.  His hand reaches automatically for his weapon, even as he lies completely immobile, listening for what has woken him in the pre-dawn hours.  When he finally registers the soft, rumbling sound, he is almost convinced he must still be dreaming.

Five, ten, fifteen seconds tick by as the ground continues to tremble gently under his back before Jack finally launches to his feet, fighting for a moment with the flap to his tent in his haste.  He bursts out into the frigid air, scattering the snow piled up against the base of his tent.

The sound is painfully familiar and Jack has to resist the urge to pinch himself.   As if mocking his last tendril of hope, the noise ends as abruptly as it had begun.  He’s left standing in the slush, his ears straining to pick up anything other than the unforgiving wind whipping up through the valley.

He doesn’t move, standing still as possible as if it might bring the sound back.  His shoeless feet begin to protest the rapid crawl of icy water while his brain quotes helpful standard winter survival techniques like, “If you want to keep your toes, get the hell back in the tent.”

He doesn’t move.

He stands on his numbing feet, waiting.  When the noise finally starts again, Jack refuses to believe it’s delirium.  This time, when the rumbling abruptly ends, it is only to be replaced with an enormous eruption.  Less than fifty yards away, a column of water bursts out of the bedrock.  Without thought, Jack runs towards the explosion, slipping and sliding on his numb limbs.  By the time the column disappears, he is staring over the edge of a deep well.  And shimmering softly at the bottom are the unmistakable waters of a wormhole.

He’s going home.

*     *     *

The gate room swarms with refugees and military personnel, the jolliest form of chaos.  Hammond welcomes Jack home warmly, while Daniel continues to prattle on.  Jack doesn’t need to hear the words.  The sound of his voice is enough to ease the panic Jack hadn’t even realized he’s been carrying around.  Even the familiar smell of the gate room is like a balm to his soul.

Jack looks around the room, his eyes searching, and it takes him a few minutes to realize that he’s searching for Sam, but the realization is like a physical blow.  There is a flash of blond hair in the dark recesses of control room and all Jack can think is that she should be down here too.

“According to Dr. Lee,” Daniel is saying, “she must have rewritten more than a few laws of physics to get it to work-.”

“Who?” Jack asks, his eyes still actively searching, waiting for her to reappear.

Daniel’s brow creases in annoyance at his brusque tone and Jack doesn’t bother to hide his grin.  Annoying Daniel is certainly at the top of his list of things he’s missed.

“Sam,” Daniel answers. “She’s worked herself nearly to death to get you back.”

“Indeed,” Teal’c confirms from behind Daniel.

Not yet having any words to say in response to that revelation, Jack nods slowly in understanding and lets himself be led away to the infirmary.

He’s never believed impossible to be beyond her.


	16. Erosion

The gun is steady and predictable in her hands.  She’s lost all fear of the object in the last six months.  In her mind’s eye she understands how each component works, down the molecular level of the chemicals.  With understanding comes order, every thing in their place.

The way things are meant to be.

Sam first started coming to the range to master her feeling of helplessness, but in the months since it has become something more.  Being here helps her think.  With her body busy with the routine movements and her conscious mind tracking variables like trajectory and speed, Sam’s mind is free to imagine, explore and problem solve.  She’s come to do her best work in this dim, memory-loaded place.  Even harder to admit, though, is that she comes here to remind herself of him.  The time they spent together here.

She thinks Jack would be amused by that.

So maybe it’s no real surprise that she chooses to flee here.  So long she has labored with a single goal in mind: bring him home.  But seeing him walk down that ramp had released every iota of confusion and self-doubt she had thought mastered.  Unsettled and feeling bizarrely raw, Sam hadn’t been able to gather enough courage to walk down and face him.

She’s gotten used to being in control.

The thought of him looking through her, or worse, bumping her on the arm with a neutral ‘Nice work, Doctor!’ was enough to threaten her careful equilibrium.  But not here in the firing range.  Here she is nothing but balance and precision, logic and calibration.  Solid.

With perfect control and the exact amount of pressure on the trigger, Sam fires off six rounds in quick succession, each slamming home dead center on the target.

With detachment, she observes the smooth grace and surety of her hands as they economically reload the weapon.  If only her mind could latch on to such immutable order.

She senses the moment he walks into the room, but does not look away from the target.

Six more shots perfectly placed.

She pulls off her protective gear, placing them on the ledge in front of her.

“You’ve gotten very good,” he observes.

“I’ve had a lot of time to practice,” she says, her voice not nearly as steady as she would have hoped.  She feels the ridiculous desire to cry and blinks rapidly at the distant target swimming in front of her.

So intent is she on controlling her emotions that she doesn’t notice he has crossed the room until she hears his voice right by her ear.  “You’re still letting your left hand drop,” he says softly.

Dutifully, Sam picks the gun back up, her body naturally moving into the stance he taught her so many months before.

His arms come around her, grasping the gun on either side and Sam can feel the heat of his body against her back and his breath against her neck.  Her hand slips, the comfort of this ritual somehow lost with him so close to her, seemingly surrounding her on all sides.  His hands are there, though, smoothly reinforcing her grip, lifting her left hand slightly higher.

His hands are tan and rough with calluses, speaking to the life he has lived these last months.  She wonders if he realizes that his thumb is absently rubbing back and forth across the back of her hand.

How many times has she imagined him back here with her?  And now he is, impossibly solid and warm.

“I missed you,” she breathes, still watching the hypnotic movement of his renegade thumb.

Sam thinks she feels his head lower oh so slightly to press against her hair.  But even if she just imagined it, at the very least he doesn’t pull away.  She’s not sure she could survive that right now, even if she is crossing unspoken borders, walking blindly into unknown territory.

Suddenly self-conscious, Sam pulls her hands from his, lowering the gun to the table and turns slowly, leaning back against the ledge.  Jack doesn’t step back out of the booth, instead moving his empty hands to brace on either side of her in the small space.

Sam dares to look up at his face, unsettled to find it completely inscrutable.  “This is the part when you say something annoying, just to see if I’ll react,” she reminds him.

But for once, Jack doesn’t have any sort of comeback for her.

As if from a great distance, she watches as he lifts one hand tenderly to her face, his thumb gently brushing over her cheek.  She resists the urge to lean into the caress, but then Jack finally speaks, his voice low and gravelly.

“Thank you for bringing me back, Sam.”

Sam really hopes that catch in her breath isn’t audible.  The effect of his simple sincerity rolls over her in uncertain, euphoric waves and she knows without looking that her hands are clenched in a white-knuckled attempt to stand her ground and not lean into the man who seems to be invading her very being.

Jack chooses this moment to close the last barrier between them and lowers his face to hers.  He hesitates almost infinitesimally before kissing her gently once on the very corner of her mouth.  The touch is fleeting and tentative, giving her plenty of room to back away.

Before Sam even has time to process, her traitorous fingers push off the ledge, setting her body on a collision course with Jack’s.  When their lips meet again, there is nothing tentative about it.

Kissing Jack is a bit like stepping into a whirlwind and all of Sam’s thoughts and reason scatter, tripping into chaos.  She has always thought of entropy as a negative, destructive force until this moment, when she feels herself sinking in to the sensation that is Jack O’Neill kissing her.

If there is one thing Dr. Carter has learned at the SGC, though, it’s that any law can be rewritten.

For the right person.[  
](http://www.annerb.com/string_16.html)


	17. Spaces Between

Jack’s strides shorten measurably and his pace slows to a downright crawl as he passes through a particular hallway on level 18.  He shoves his hands casually in his pockets and dawdles momentarily, scraping a nearby wall with his security card.

Daniel glances back at Jack in confusion, even as he gamely matches Jack’s unusual pace, just like he hadn’t bothered to ask about this rather circuitous new route from the commissary to Daniel’s lab.  Four years with Jack have taught Daniel that sometimes it’s better not to ask.

Jack glances at his watch again, slowing down even more.

A moment later, a door bursts open and white coated scientists begin to pour out into the hallway.  Jack nods satisfactorily at his watch.  “Right on time.”

Daniel, meanwhile, having figured out the reason for Jack’s bizarre song and dance, snickers audibly.  “You’re pathetic,” he notes cheerfully.

Jack doesn’t have time to respond though, because at that moment Sam and Bill step out into the hall, deep in discussion.

Daniel is happy to step back and watch the ensuing show.  Typical of her behavior since Jack returned to Earth a couple weeks ago, Sam doesn’t quite meet Jack’s eyes, her face tingeing faintly pink as she makes a big show of greeting Daniel.  

Daniel, good friend that he is, magnanimously resists laughing at her.

Jack rocks on his feet, not even trying to hide his sick pleasure at Sam’s discomfort.

These two really are some piece of work.

“We were just leaving the commissary,” Jack says almost proudly, nodding his head down the hall.

Sam doesn’t comment on the fact that the commissary is four levels down, which Daniel thinks is rather charitable of her.  “I really should get back to work,” she says instead, rushing to catch up to Bill with a hasty wave and a smile back at them.

She disappears down the hall and Daniel turns to Jack.  “Why don’t you just go visit her in her lab?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Daniel,” Jack replies in his best clueless tone.

Yup, something has definitely happened there and Daniel is dying to know what.  But meanwhile, he’s happy to watch the bizarre mating ritual the two seem to have developed.  Sam can continue to ignore Jack and Jack can continue to make up excuses to ambush her.

“I meant what I said, you’re pathetic.”

“Thank you,” Jack says, disappearing into the nearest stairwell, no doubt on his way to stalk the women’s restrooms on level 19.

Daniel wonders if he should start selling tickets.

*     *     *

It’s not that Sam is avoiding him, Jack tells himself.  Sure, he hasn’t had more than two minutes in a crowded hallway with her since that day in the firing range.  But more than likely that is due to the fact that she has proven herself to be invaluable.  She is now second only to Bill, overseeing many of the smaller departments by herself.  She’s understandably busy.

As for Jack’s own admittedly stalkerish tendencies, he blames that on his boredom.  With Kawalsky transferred, Jack is stuck on world until he finds a suitable replacement, which is a lot harder than it sounds.  No off world missions means that Jack has a lot of time and very little to do with it, other than annoy Daniel and watch Sam squirm.

But as the days continue to slide by Jack can’t help but wonder at the back of his mind if she is avoiding him.

It was just a kiss after all.  It didn’t necessarily mean anything.

Fate intervenes on that thought though, somehow ensuring that Jack is in a storage closet in the middle of Project Boobytrap when Sam happens to walk in on him.  Sure, Jack chose this particular storage closet knowing it was on her floor, but he didn’t actually expect to see her.  Certainly she is important enough to have flunkies to do the resupplying for her these days.

She sucks in a startled breath when she sees Jack and for a moment he’s convinced she’s going to turn around and walk right back out.  But her office supply need must somehow be greater than her instinct to flee because she smiles nervously and gestures vaguely to a stack of yellow legal pads behind Jack’s head.

Jack graciously steps out of her way.  Her eyes travel over the stack of highlighters and tongue depressors Jack has gathered with no comment, probably deciding it is safer not to know.  Plausible deniability.  He likes to think she learned that from him.

“How have you been?” Jack asks, breaking the awkward silence as he watches her pull down multi-colored post-it notes.

She flinches almost reflexively and he wonders if that is guilt that crosses her face. _Has_ she been avoiding him?  “General Hammond gave me some time off.”

Jack nods.  He noticed.  But she does look much better rested than she had when Jack first returned.  He was so relieved to be home that he hadn’t noticed at first, but dark circles had been burned under her eyes and Jack hadn’t needed Daniel to tell him of her long hours.

“You seem pretty busy these days,” Jack observes, fishing for anything to say to get a conversation going, to keep her in the same room with him for more than two minutes.

“Yeah,” she says noncommittally, clearly side stepping the open invitation to start talking about her work at great length. 

She keeps picking at various supplies that he doubts she really has use for unless she’s saving up for some apocalypse he hasn’t heard about yet.  After long minutes her arms are completely loaded and she seems ready to step around him and disappear again, but can’t figure out how to do it without brushing past Jack. 

It hurts a little bit, the way she is so obviously skittish around him.  He knows long months have passed since the days they developed a comfortable camaraderie with each other, but the way she is acting, you’d think he’d attacked her or something, rather than just kissing her.  But clearly she wishes to be anywhere but in here with him.

“Look, Sam,” Jack says as he steps out of her way and she begins to edge past.  He’s willing to let her off the hook, despite his own inner protests.  “If you just want to forget that day ever happened-.”

But he doesn’t get to finish his altruistic gesture because the next thing he knows she is kissing him, pencils and post-it notes falling to the floor.  Some small part of Jack registers that this is a rather abrupt 180 degree turn on her part, but in all honesty he doesn’t give a crap because her tongue is in his mouth and it’s short-circuiting his brain.

He happily meets her halfway, fingers tangling in her hair, moving closer to deepen the angle of the kiss.  She tastes faintly of coffee and something sweet, and some indefinable flavor that is still new, but that he hopes to get to know very, very well.

With three short steps he backs her up against the closet door, every point of contact between them electric and some part of Jack’s tactical mind must still be thinking because in this position no one can walk in on them unexpectedly and Sam is rather effectively pinned in case any of her earlier fleeing tendencies resurface.  Not to mention that he’s able to feel every curve of her body and, oh God, she’s so damn soft, but she’s the exact perfect height, he thinks as his head dips down to taste the skin right below her jaw and his thigh presses between her legs, feeling the pull of the fabric of her skirt against his knee. 

Her head falls back against the door with a soft thump nearly obscured by a deep throaty sound that Jack thinks must be the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

Her hands are pushing against him, though, and he feels a moment of dread puncture his haze, until he realizes she is just fighting with the buttons of his shirt, trying valiantly to get to the skin underneath.

That’s when it hits him that they are making out in a storage closet inside one of the most top secret bases in the world and somehow his hand has slid up under her skirt and is currently making a serious front line campaign to conquer the wonders of her thighs.

As much as he would gladly have sex with her right here among the post-its and ball point pens (he will _never_ find writing reports boring ever again), it just doesn’t quite seem right.  Not with someone like Sam.

And that’s when he realizes he’s never even seen her outside of the Mountain.  He wants to know what she looks like in the sunshine.

Reluctantly, and ignoring the screaming of a very selfish part of his body, Jack slides his hand back out of the promise land, moving back up to spend at least a few more minutes just kissing her.  He’s trying to scale back incrementally, because somehow he just knows Sam is not going to deal well with coming back down to reality.

Sure enough, when Jack leans slightly back, just enough to create a sliver of space between their bodies, he can feel her stiffen.

Jack leans back in, his hands sliding leisurely down her sides to rest low on her hips.  “I would like nothing more than to continue this, Sam,” he says, just against her ear.  “But perhaps this isn’t the best place?”

His voice is low and full of promise, leaving no room for her to misunderstand his position, but she still straightens up against the door as if she’s been caught doing something wrong, her hand traveling to cover her mouth.

“Oh, God,” she mumbles miserably.  That is not the way Jack hoped to hear those words escape her lips.

“Sam,” Jack murmurs, working his mouth over a certain part of her neck he has already learned is particularly sensitive in these mere fifteen minutes in a closet.  He can feel her fight the urge to melt against his touch again, but his victory is fleeting as she side-steps out of his embrace, leaving him leaning against the hard metal door.

He watches her rebutton her shirt with shaky fingers (when had he done that?) and collect her abandoned supplies, picking up half of his with her own in her haste.  She pats her hair and reaches for the doorknob and Jack sighs.

“Don’t you think...maybe we should talk about this?” Jack finds himself asking.  God, he never thought those particular words would ever pass his lips.

But Sam just shakes her head and takes a desperate tug at the door.  “I’m sorry,” she says when Jack finally steps aside, consigning himself to watching her disappear down yet another hallway.

When he is alone once again, he hunkers down to pick up the remaining supplies strewn about.  He should have known better than to get involved with a scientist.

“See?” Jack announces to the empty room.  “I told you they were damn unpredictable.”

The room doesn’t seem to find the comment particularly enlightening and to be honest, neither does Jack.

He can still taste her.


	18. Calamine

For Sam, the kiss the day they rescued Jack from Edora is easy to explain away.  It was a heightened situation after all.  He’d been gone seven months and she was still buzzing from the high that she is learning to associate with accomplishing the impossible.

So, yeah.  Easy enough to explain away.

Not so easy to explain is her sudden overwhelming need for office supplies at least once a week.  Or maybe three times a week.  She now has enough paper, writing utensils and glue to build a half scale replica of the SGC.  She’s running out of places to put it all.

She briefly considers sending her assistant to return it all, but she’s not sure she can justify that fitting into his job description.  But then again, making out with the Second in Command of the base in a storage closet isn’t part of her job description either.

Sam groans softly and drops her head into her hands, ignoring the blinky artifact from P5T-932 sitting in front of her.

This isn’t like her, she knows, and even worse, it’s beginning to interfere with her work.  The whole situation is just completely unacceptable.  She didn’t come here to get involved in some sordid office romance.  She’d left her husband for this opportunity, abandoned her entire life on the off chance that she might be able to build something for herself in these labs.  There just isn’t room for anything else.

Especially when half the time she can’t even convince herself that she actually likes Jack.

But no matter how many times she swears she won’t step near another storage closet, she still finds herself wandering down that particular hallway with some flimsy excuse when the unspoken appointed time comes.  Jack is always there, as if he can just somehow read her moods, which annoys her on a whole new level altogether.

She has no idea what he thinks of the whole thing (‘thing’ is her way of avoiding categorizing anything), but at the same time, she really doesn’t want to know.  He’s a guy after all, it should be pretty obvious what he wants out of this.

But even in her own head that uncharitable thought doesn’t quite sit right.

The idea that maybe this whole thing is just an itch that needs to be scratched lingers in Sam’s mind, though.  Just a normal biological reaction.  After all, she hasn’t had a man in her life for...  No, she really doesn’t want to put a number on it, it’s too damn depressing.

The more she thinks about it, the more she likes this new theory.  Particularly because it offers a clear and straight path out of the situation. 

Of course, scratching that itch isn’t as easy as it sounds, particularly on a high security military base.  But maybe not impossible, Sam thinks with a completely unacceptable illicit thrill.  Yes, she thinks, poking agitatedly at the still blinking piece of technology, the sooner she can test her hypothesis and get back to her real life the better.

She spends the rest of the afternoon lost in thoughts having nothing to do with P5T-932.

*     *     *

Two weeks and two incidents later (which would have undoubtedly been a much higher number if SG-1 hadn’t finally been cleared for off world travel with their new teammate), Sam bites the bullet and goes to visit Daniel in his office.

She’s brainstormed ways around asking Daniel for this particular bit of information, but she’s getting desperate now and the only other option is to follow Jack home and she’s pretty sure he’s too well trained not to notice her.  For some reason she’s convinced she really needs to element of surprise on her side, which is silly on more levels that she can count.

But so is essentially asking Daniel to play pimp for her.

Oh, god.  Could she take that last thought back, please?

Before Sam can even work herself around to the topic, Daniel hands her a small white piece of paper neatly folded in half.  She knows it has Jack’s address on it without asking.

It’s mortifying to discover she’s been this obvious.  It doesn’t keep her from eagerly swiping it from his hand.

*     *     *

It’s just an itch, remember?

The phrase has become like a mantra as she sits behind the wheel of her car on a sunny Saturday morning.  She’s repeated the words so often that they have almost stopped sounding completely ridiculous.  Almost.

Numerous variables have been carefully inserted into her equations.  Early morning to catch him off guard and to avoid any possibility of staying the night and giving this more meaning than she intends.  No dinner or traditional build-up that might make it seem date like.

But she’s losing her careful element of surprise the longer she sits in her car parked in front of his house.

The building isn’t exactly what she expected of him, and yet seems to suit him perfectly.  The low house somehow manages to be rustic and inviting at the same time and is that smoke coming from around the back?  What kind of man barbeques at nine in the morning?

Apparently this one. 

Sam gathers whatever courage she has left and forces herself to Remember The Plan as she gets out of the car.  She circumvents the front door all together and heads straight for the source of the pillar of smoke rising from what must be his backyard.

It’s larger than she expected, smooth green grass sweeping down to a fence lined with hedges and ancient looking pines.  Jack is standing on a wide, darkly stained deck sparsely furnished with comfortable looking lounge chairs and a huge stainless steel barbeque currently belching out more smoke than she suspects is proper.

When Jack notices her, he blinks at her for a moment in the bright sunshine as if he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing.

“Hi,” Sam manages to say.

“Hunh,” is Jack’s reply.  “So this is what you look like outside the Mountain.”

Sam quirks her head and refuses to look confused.  This is not how it was supposed to go.

But then Jack goes back to his barbeque as if she hadn’t just shown up unannounced in his backyard. 

“Want a hot dog?” he asks.

“It’s nine in the morning,” Sam observes needlessly, coming up the steps to stand on his porch.

“So?” he asks with a shrug.

She can’t really come up with an argument to that.  “Okay.”

They sit nibbling hot dogs (without buns for some reason) and Sam takes the time to glance around Jack’s yard.  It’s a bit like seeing an animal in its natural habitat, but she didn’t really come here to learn more about him.  That’s not part of the plan.

“I didn’t really come to talk,” she blurts at some point and automatically resists the urge to slap her palm across her mouth.  She did _not_ just say that.

Jack, to his credit, doesn’t look too nonplussed by the completely ludicrous comment.

“Good,” he says instead.  “You can help me with the yard.”

It turns out he is in no way kidding and Sam spends the next three hours with her hands in the soil, something completely unfamiliar to her.  But Jack has always seemed to take special joy in seeing her off kilter, she remembers.

“I’ve always had gardeners,” Sam comments, forgetting her earlier claim that she wasn’t here to talk. 

Jeff hadn’t really had the time to deal with landscaping with his practice doing so well and Sam had been busy enough with the inside of the house to even contemplate plants.  Plus, the proper placement and care of various varieties of plant life had always seemed way beyond her.

“I like to do it myself, when I have the time,” Jack says, catching her hand to save a plant she mistakenly assumes is a weed.  Dirt grinds between the skin of their entwined hands, but there is still something undeniably electric in the touch that brings Sam’s mind quickly back to The Plan.

But Jack seems to have other ideas because he lets go rather quickly and picks up a pair of shears.  He glances speculatively between the tool and Sam and smiles widely.  “Maybe it would be better for you to sit this next bit out.”

Sam tries to be offended, but instead retreats to the shade of his porch and watches him cut back the hedge along his fence.  She finds herself fleetingly wondering if he might be cooler with his shirt off. 

She’s only thinking of his comfort after all.

But then her mind wanders and she thinks about how unexpectedly pleasant Jack’s backyard is.  In the distance she can hear the soft buzz of a lawn mower and a few neighborhood dogs half-heartedly sending out tentative greetings.  Her own house, despite living there for over a year now, still has a rather stark, unlived in feeling to it and Sam can’t be sure how much of that is because she is never home and how much might have something to do with gleaming hardwood and the smell of rising dough.  But even that blurs in her mind these days.

“Sam?”

She opens her eyes slowly, frowning as she tries to place herself.  Jack is leaning over her smelling faintly of soap, his hair slightly damp.  She’s dumbly trying to decipher why his hair would be wet when she notices the distinct shift of sunlight.  Somehow, hours have passed.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, sitting up a bit too quickly and almost knocking heads with him.  “I didn’t mean to doze off.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, stepping back and waving away her concern.  “Feel like some lunch?”

“Hot dogs?” she asks, arching an eyebrow at him (which isn’t easy to do while she’s still determinedly rubbing the sleep from her eyes).

Jack laughs lowly.  “No.  I was thinking sandwiches.”

Sam thinks for a moment, willing her fuzzy brain back to The Plan, but he’s smiling at her with the sun painting patterns through the trees on his face and suddenly she’s remembering the Jack who patiently taught her not to be afraid, pulled pranks on Daniel with alien goo, and grinned at her across crowded hallways. 

It feels like it’s been a long time since she’ s seen him.

She peers up at him through one eye and says, “I’m really glad you’re back, Jack.”

Jack smiles and holds out his hands.  Sam gingerly grasps them and he helps her to her feet, pulling her close enough to almost touch.  He catches her off guard, kissing her once, slow and lazy like the afternoon sun before her still sleepy mind has time to react. 

“Glad to hear it,” he says, guiding her towards the house and the promise of lunch.

They walk inside, his hand low against her back and just like that something shifts and Sam’s genius plan falls to the wayside.

But even geniuses have to get it wrong sometimes.


	19. Discretion For Dummies (or How Not to Keep a Secret)

It’s frightening how easily they slip into each other’ s lives.  No big discussions or declarations, just an unspoken understanding that Sam no longer needs to incur bad karma for her indiscriminate use of office supplies just to see Jack.  Instead, she becomes a frequent visitor to Jack’s house.  If anyone wonders at the pair’s sudden attachment to leaving the base at a reasonable hour, they are at least smart enough not to say anything.

At work they are consummate professionals.  Jack stops stalking her and Sam sends her assistant for any supplies.  (Not that she needs any.  Her office still strongly resembles a stationary shop.)  But really, it’s the principle of the thing that matters.

Not that she doesn’t occasionally feel an inappropriate beat of nostalgia when she passes by particular storage closets.  And Jack still smirks across crowded hallways at her, just enough to keep nosey Daniel guessing.  Because as much as they are together outside of work, Sam prides herself on managing to avoid both Daniel’s prying questions and the fabled SG-1 team nights.  Sure she considers herself friends with Daniel and Teal’c, but she’s just very careful not to be at Jack’s when they have something planned.  And if she pays special attention on those days that there is absolutely no evidence that she has ever been in Jack’s house, she can just write that off as a desire to be clean and not muck up Jack’s personal space.

Jack just eyes her over a morning bowl of cereal, casually dropping “The guys are coming over this afternoon” into the conversation every few days.  Then he spends the next ten minutes watching her come up with a dozen equally trite reasons why she needs to be elsewhere.  He never pressures her to stay.  Unless the casual drowning of his Cheerios with his spoon is some sort of secret sign language.  But, as a civilian, Sam thinks she’s allowed to plead ignorance.

She’s not a member of SG-1, after all.  But now she’s Jack’s...well she doesn’t have the proper noun to describe _what_ she is.  There’s just plenty of seeing each other outside of work, doing strange things together like gardening, buying stuff at the hardware store, and letting him rest his hand on her thigh in the dark of the movie theater like they’re teenagers.  Of course, there’s also the sex.  Lots of it.  And while the sex is in no way perfect and mind-blowing every time or particularly worthy of its own harlequin romance novel, it is good and plentiful (and in no way something she could have cured herself of with one go.  Stupid plan.). 

Sam’s not sure what sandwiches, hardware stores, and sex add up to, but after a few weeks, Jack apparently decides it equals ‘Sam should be included in team bonding experiences, whether she likes it or not.’  At least that seems to be the only thing to explain why Sam is lounging on the back porch in not much more than an oversized shirt of Jack’s when Daniel shows up with a sack full of deli salads.

Welcome to team bonding 101, Sam.

Sam freezes, glass of juice halfway to her mouth.

Daniel seems similarly frozen, one foot lifted to mount the back stairs.

It’s not like Jack and Sam have been necessarily keeping anything a secret.  But sandwiches, hardware stores and lots of sex didn’t particularly seem to be anyone’s business but their own.

Until now, apparently.

Beneath the obvious mortification, Sam is actually amused to see a faint blush of embarrassment on Daniel’s face.  He’s not looking so smug and superior now with the pestering and the prying.  Granted, he’s had all his questions answered in spades now.  There has to be something about curiosity and cats that fits here now, but Sam is too busy making sure everything that should be covered is actually covered.

“I...uh...,” Daniel blusters inconclusively, eventually hefting the bag hanging from his fingers, his eyes determinedly averted and latched onto something over Sam’s left shoulder.  “I brought potato salad.”

Sam simply blinks at Daniel and marvels that this is Jack’s crack communications expert. It’s a miracle SG-1 doesn’t get into more trouble off world than they already do.

Sam pushes to her feet, thankful that the shirt at least falls to mid-thigh.  “Jack!” she yells, causing Daniel to jump.

The back door slides open.  “Yeah, Sam?” Jack asks, sticking his head out.

“Is there something you maybe forgot to tell me about?”  Her voice is so forcibly sweet and bland that she can actually see Daniel flinch.

“Oh, yeah,” Jack replies, eyes trailing unconcernedly over Daniel.  “The guys are coming over today.”  And then he steps back inside.

Sam just smiles, because all other available options seem to involve violence and she’s not a violent person.  Really.

“I’m going to go inside now,” she informs Daniel, gesturing towards the house, “and put on some clothes.”

Daniel nods slowly, seeming rather keen on the idea.

“And maybe explain again to Jack that I am perfectly capable of killing him in his sleep.”

Daniel recovers enough to snicker and Sam’s almost made it to the door when she hears another deep voice question, “Has Doctor Carter misplaced her pants?”

Oh, yes, Sam thinks, she’s not a violent person.  But another few weeks with Jack and she might learn to be.

*     *     *

Thirty minutes later, when Sam finally works up the nerve to leave Jack’s room, she’s dressed and ready to high-tail it out of there.  There’s just the small problem of her missing keys.

“No amount of sex is worth this,” she grumbles to the empty spot where her keys should be.

She’s forced to step back out onto the porch where Daniel, Teal’c and the new guy are all sitting around a table.  They stop talking abruptly and it’s in no way awkward.  Really.  Then Jack walks in behind Sam and she’s pretty sure she can hear the jangle of her kidnapped keys in his pocket. 

Before she can demand their return, though, Jack hands her a beer and wraps an arm around her waist, his hand plucking playfully at her belt loop.  She’s struck by the insane idea that this isn’t so much a team thing as a coming out party.  This is Jack O’Neill saying ‘love me, love my scientist.’  It’s almost as endearing as it is annoying.

“Sam, you know Major Lorne,” Jack says, giving her a little push forward.

“Evan,” the dark haired man supplies, holding out his hand.

Sam clasps it and smiles wanly. “Sam,” she replies.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, a dimple flashing unexpectedly in one cheek. “You need no introduction.”

Sam looks archly back at Evan, wondering what exactly that means.  She holds no illusions as to what being caught half-naked in Jack’s backyard might do to her reputation.

“You’re the one who saves us with the brilliant ideas when we break rule number one,” he explains.

Sam’s caught off guard by the comment, smiling in amusement.  “Rule number one?”

“Don’t touch anything,” Jack supplies, leaning over her shoulder.  “Now drink your beer.”

“Yessir,” Sam says, resisting the urge to throw out a sloppy salute.

Jack smirks and turns back to Evan.  “Get moving, Lorne.  Those burgers aren’t going to cook themselves!”

Sam raises an eyebrow at Jack’s expansive mood, but resigns herself to sticking out this event for the duration.  She sits down in the major’s vacated seat and smiles across the table at Daniel.

“Daniel,” she says with a nod.

“Sam,” he replies, now looking annoyingly amused rather than embarrassed.  “I see you found your pants.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously that he would dare to bring up her earlier humiliation.  But then she leans back and flicks her hair over one shoulder.  “See anything you like?” she asks.

Daniel chokes on his beer and Teal’c slaps him congenially on the back.

“Indeed,” the Jaffa says with the barest inclination of his head.  “From what I have been privileged to see, I believe O’Neill has chosen most wisely.”

The table is completely silent except for the hiss and spatter of the meat on the grill.  Even Jack is staring at Teal’c with something akin to shock.

“Are you... _mocking_ me, Teal’c?” Sam finally manages to choke out.

“That is always a possibility,” he replies with a sparkle in his eye.

Over by the grill, Evan snorts audibly.

“Watch it, New Guy,” Sam warns, waving her beer in his direction.  “You’re breaking rule number two.”

“And what’s that?”

“Never piss off the scientist whose job it is to save your ass.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he agrees with a grin.

Next to her, Jack is looking pretty damn pleased with himself, but suddenly Sam is in too good a mood to care.  Being caught half naked on Jack O’Neill’s porch may not have been the most graceful way to introduce the sandwich-hardwarestore-sex development, but this is SG-1, new member and all.  Her team.  And she’s pretty happy to have them.

Sam watches Evan move efficiently around the barbeque.  This newest member of SG-1 seems quietly self-effacing and doesn’t speak much unless required.  She wonders if maybe that’s why Jack picked him.  But there is also subtle tension in the man’s stance that speaks to his capability, even as he smiles widely and inclines his head with enough of a twist of his lips to let you know he’s just humoring you.  He’s not wound tight, which is precisely what SG-1 needs to balance out Daniel’s hyperactivity, Jack’s bursts of high energy and Teal’c’s almost stifling dignity.  Overall, Sam decides that Evan is a good choice and she understands why it took Jack so long to pick that new member.

But it’s not until she bites into one of Evan’s burgers that she realizes his real value.

“Finally,” Sam sighs.  “Someone on SG-1 who can barbeque!”

Jack doesn’t look particularly offended.  Instead he licks one of his fingers and says, “Why do you think I picked him?”

Evan’s laughter sounds pretty good mingling with the others.


	20. Fixation

She likes the way he chews.

It’s a stupid thing to notice, but inside the privacy of her own mind, she’s sticking by it.

He’s not one of those loud chewers, the kind whose jaw clacks with each compression or whose teeth somehow create bizarre suction with the food. And he doesn’t do that loud through the nose breathing while his mouth is occupied thing.

But he _is_ a thoughtful chewer. She notices that he tends to be thoughtful about most things, belying his casual, go-lucky exterior. As the weeks pass she recognizes more and more how carefully he considers every action. She suspects this must be some extension of his military training, but to be honest she knows very little of that side of him other than the rare glimpses she has seen when the base almost explodes/gets invaded/gets sucked into a blackhole/etc. All she can do is watch his motions and try to uncover the familiar in them, even if her father is the only real point of reference she has.

When he chews the shadows deepen in the hollows of his cheeks and the tendons in his neck tighten as they move languidly under skin roughened by stubble. She watches his Adam’s apple rise and fall and she finally understands why dinner is such a traditional lead up to sex.

She really likes to watch him chew.

She doesn’t even try to pretend that Jack hasn’t noticed this. He takes it in stride along with everything else, just occasionally allowing for an exaggerated stretch of his neck with a gleam in his eye.

She’s getting used to feeling ridiculous. It’s almost strangely comforting.

More often than not, Sam is convinced that she’s the nut-case in this particular relationship. It seems the crazier she acts, the more levelheaded Jack becomes. It’s sort of their unspoken agreement, giving each of them a role to play.

She blames this particular dynamic for the unease she feels when everything suddenly flips on its head. Embarrassment and banter in the warm summer sun are things of the past, nothing more than fond memories that she begins to doubt ever existed in the first place. SG-1 no longer has time for bonding or relaxation and neither does Sam.

SG-1 is off-world these days more often than not. It’s been true of all of the SG teams for months. Sam can feel the subtle tension building up around the base, months old and showing no sign of waning. She can still remember General Hammond’s face as he encouraged her to move forward as quickly as possible on the naquadah reactors. She has permission to cut corners wherever she deems necessary, she was told. He doesn’t have to spell it out that the stakes are being raised as every day passes.

Something’s coming, they can all feel it.

But none of this has really bothered Sam until now, because suddenly Jack is doing things like ending up in the infirmary and she’s left to be the levelheaded one. But judging by the fact that she is hovering in the hallway thinking about the way Jack chews, she’s not doing a stellar job.

Logically, she shouldn’t be surprised by the situation. She understands the probability of off-world injury. She’s worked out the math. Literally. There’s comfort in the surety of the numbers, even if it’s an admittedly morbid exercise. Unlike people, though, numbers don’t lie, no matter how much you don’t like what they are telling you.

So, no, not a surprise that Jack’s in the infirmary. She just wasn’t necessarily ready for the reality of the experience.

 _Dr. Fraiser moves around the infirmary as if master of the realm, her heels clicking fastidiously on the hard floor. Despite her stature, Sam has no doubt that the woman towers over the servicemen and women whose lives rest in her very capable hands._

 _In a steady, no-nonsense tone she informs them that Jack will be absolutely fine. Despite the fact that Sam is trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, hiding behind the solid bulk of Teal’c, the doctor’s eyes still pointedly come to rest on Sam as she reassures them of Jack’s condition. She smiles, but Sam is too unnerved to reply in kind._

 _The angry red blisters streaking across Jack’s forehead don’t bother Sam, not really. Nor is she upset that no one seems to want to explain what exactly happened to him. She doesn’t flinch when Dr. Fraiser says things like “It could have been much worse.” She doesn’t snap, “*What* could have been worse?!”_

 _Instead, she stares in quiet horror as Jack cracks jokes and complains about needles. On the surface this seems just like Jack, levelheaded even in the worst situations. But there is something frightening just behind the act that sends a frisson of unease down her spine. He smiles at her over Teal’c’s shoulder, but the gesture is anything but reassuring._

 _She can see there is something horrible lurking underneath and she hasn’t learned the rules of the game everyone else seems to be playing. She doesn’t need to be told to know he’s been tortured, or that they’re all going to ignore it. That Jack might just be the world record holder for ignoring it, judging by his well-practiced, artificial smile._

 _Underneath it all, his eyes are screaming at her and she’s having a hard time remembering that she’s not supposed to notice things like that. She’s not supposed to think about how sometimes she wakes in the night to find he’s fled their bed. She’s not supposed to know about nightmares and broken pasts and classified horrors. Ignore, repress, don’t discuss... Yet another one of their unspoken agreements._

 _Sometimes she wishes he would speak to her about it. Just say something, anything, to give her an idea of what might be going on inside that head of his. But most of the time she is thankful not to know._

 _Jack cracks another joke and she dutifully smiles even though it feels as if her face might crack under the strain of it. Apparently she needs more practice._

 _She escapes the room at the first available opportunity._

Now, hours later when the base is plunged in late night silence, Sam stands in the doorway to the infirmary and watches him sleep in a patch of light from the hall. She watches him twitch against unseen things beneath the marks of his torture and forces her mind to contemplate asinine things like the way he chews. Buying herself time to understand her place in this.

He jerks awake, his eyes wild and raw, fingers clenched in the sheets. But then he catches sight of her and she can  see the gates slam shut. He smirks at her to cover, that same teasing, arrogant smile that first made her heart race. Now it only conjures roiling nausea.

She brings him a piece of contraband cake so she can watch him chew and patiently waits for the marks to fade.

Maybe by then she’ll be able to pretend too.


	21. Auspice

There is only one slice of banana cream pie left on the dessert rack by the time Daniel trots into the commissary.  Unfortunately Lt. Nelson is currently two feet closer to said slice.  And the lieutenant looks like he might seriously be considering reaching for Daniel’s pie.

Hastily grabbing of plate of whatever the lunch special is, Daniel stares hard into the back of Nelson’s neck.  _Cake_ , he projects, _you desperately feel like eating cake_.  He has serious doubts as to the reliability of his mind control techniques, but the soldier does turn around to find Daniel staring with one eye squinted with effort.  The poor guy looks freaked out enough to step away from the dessert trays all together.

Victory.

Daniel sweeps in and grabs the last piece of pie.

Of course, by the time he settles down between Sam and Evan, Daniel realizes that in his haste he has served himself a heaping platter of meatloaf dejour.  Is it really Wednesday again?  How could he have been so careless?  Out of the corner of his eye, Daniel can see Evan smirking over his completely average looking turkey sandwich.

Daniel sighs audibly and pokes tentatively at the mass on his plate.  “Sam, think you could have one of your flunkies take this down to the lab for chemical analysis?  You could win a Nobel Prize for proving once and for all that mystery meat is not actually fit for human consumption.”

Daniel glances up from his plate when he gets no response from Sam.  Looking at her proves distracting enough to make him forget about his future gastrointestinal woes.  There are pencils sticking out from her hair at every conceivable angle and, despite his very witty monologue about mystery meat, has not looked up from the table where she is avidly scribbling and erasing at nearly the same rate.  And did those pencils look...chewed?

Daniel reaches out to poke at one of the various pencils, but Jack reaches behind her and slaps his hand away.

“No touching,” Jack says.

Daniel really hopes this strange territoriality doesn’t have anything to do with the whole ‘he’s seen Sam half naked’ thing.  Because that was a long time ago and mostly Jack’s fault.

“Apparently there is some pencil mojo at work,” Evan helpfully explains, waving his unmysterious sandwich in Sam’s direction.

“Mojo?” Daniel repeats.

“The arrangement of writing utensils in Dr. Carter’s hair is meant to impart good luck,” Teal’c informs him.

“I never realized Sam was that superstitious,” Daniel says, gazing at the pencils in interest.

“She wasn’t,” Jack says with a sigh.  He rather mournfully glances down at Sam’s lowered head where she currently gnaws on a pencil.  “This project’s got her a little cracked.”

Daniel returns his attention to poking his mystery meat, looking closely for any signs that the mass might actually be dissolving his fork.  “She still working on the naquadah reactor?”

Evan’s eyes grow wide and Jack wildly gestures for Daniel to stop talking, but the damage is already done.  Teal’c pushes back slightly from the table as if assessing exit strategies.

“What?” Daniel asks, feeling tension creep up his back in reaction to their strange behavior.  But then, just as Jack looks like he is letting himself breathe again, Sam’s head snaps up.

“Did somebody say naquadah reactor?”  Her voice is eager  but her eyes are just a little bit crazy.

Jack glares across the table at Daniel.

“Do you have an idea to share, Daniel?” she asks, finally noticing he is there.  “Because I was thinking that if I could just avoid a feedback loop and somehow polarize the...”

And on and on she goes for nearly fifteen minutes while Jack rubs tiredly at his eyes, Evan contemplates who’s on first, and Teal’c gazes at his plate of fruit as if he has miraculously lost his appetite.

When Sam finally stops, she does so abruptly, snapping her jaw shut with an audible clack.  Then she stuffs her current pencil into her hair and reaches across the table to steal Daniel’s pie.

He opens his mouth to protest but he’s almost certain he hears Teal’c growl in warning.  Okay, then.  Sam gets his pie.  When he looks around the table he realizes none of the other men have desserts either.

“Exactly how many desserts have been sacrificed on the altar of accidentally saying Sam’s crazy words?”

Jack drops his head into his hands.  “Let’s just say I hope she gets this thing figured out soon or I might waste away to nothing.”

Sam’s mid-bite when Jack sneaks a finger into her pie and swipes a taste.  She turns and looks at Jack, and Daniel assumes he’s about to get a fork in the back of the hand for his uncontrollable sweet tooth when her expression shifts.  Daniel can almost see the light bulb going off over her head.  She absently licks her fork clean while staring at Jack with an eerie gleam in her eye like she’s contemplating some science experiment.

“I was thinking, Jack...,” she says.

“No,” he replies before she can even finish.

“But maybe-.”

“No.”

“Just take a look at-.”

“No.”

“I don’t know why you are being so stubborn,” she huffs, dropping her fork to the table.

“I told you, I don’t remember anything,” Jack says.

“You had the entire Ancient library in your head for a while.  I’m sure something must have stuck!  Just take a look at my equations.”  She shoves the papers towards him, almost sending what is left of Daniel’s pie over the edge of the table to an early death.

“No,” Jack says, pushing the plate back towards her as if to distract her.

Sam slumps back in her chair.  It’s obvious to Daniel that this is a scene oft repeated between them.  It would almost be sort of cute, if his pie hadn’t ended up as collateral damage. 

“If only I had been here for that,” she says wistfully.  “It must have been so cool.”

Daniel’s eyes meet Jack’s across the table.  Cool?  That’s not exactly how Daniel would describe the experience of watching Jack slowly lose his mind.  He almost died after all.  But then Jack shakes his head slightly and Daniel realizes that Sam must know nothing about that.  
   
Before he can ask why Jack is feeding Sam shiny, edited versions of their colorful past, an airman steps up next to Jack.

“General Hammond on the horn for you, sir,” he says.

Jack almost looks relieved, pushing quickly up from his chair and following the airman into the hall.

Sam goes back to her equations, mumbling under her breath. “This should be working!”

Daniel is just considering stealing back the skeletal remains of his pie when Jack returns to the table.  “Gear up, guys.  We have ten minutes to be in the gateroom.”

“You’re going off world?” Sam asks, her head whipping up.  “I thought you didn’t have a mission scheduled until next week?”

There is a beat of uncomfortable silence as the two regard each other across the table, Sam trying not to look freaked out and Jack determinedly not meeting her eyes.

“One of the teams ran into trouble,” Jack eventually says.  “We’re going to go get them back.”

Sam visibly absorbs the information, biting her lower lip and looking like she really wants to say something.  But then her face empties and she just nods, the pencils in her hair swaying precariously.  “Of course.”

She doesn’t say anything else and neither does Jack.  The rest of the team pushes out of their chairs and makes to follow after him.  As Daniel passes by, he reaches out and squeezes Sam’s shoulder. 

She rewards him with a bright smile, but when he glances back at the door, a new pencil is in her mouth, her equations forgotten and pushed off the to side.

*     *     *

The locker door slams shut with enough force to cause even the normally steady Evan to flinch.

“Jack,” Daniel says, trying to defuse the situation before the almost palpable rage radiating off of Jack gets out of control.

“I don’t want to hear it, Daniel.”

His tone betrays nothing of anger, just weariness, which alarms Daniel even more.

Bloody BDUs sit in a pile to the right of Jack’s locker.  An entire SGC team, gone just like that.  Daniel wants to say something, to acknowledge the fact that Jack had carried the one survivor the entire distance to the gate, regardless of the fact that the scientist had surrendered his last breath somewhere in the miles between.

Jack had refused to give up his burden, even as the body grew cold.

Four men dead to the ruthless blasts of Jaffa staff weapons.

 _“I ran,” Dr. Kellar gasps painfully when they first discover him crouched behind a tree a hundred yards from the fallen bodies of his teammates.  “Everything erupted, Rob fell...and, oh god, I ran.”_

 _Jack just stares as Daniel tries to stop the flow of blood from the man’s back.  “You did what you had to,” Daniel murmurs reassuringly._

“He was trying to apologize,” Jack says.  He has his back to all of them, both hands braced on the smooth metal of the lockers.  “He was fatally wounded on a planet thousands of light years from his family and all he could think about was the fact that he’d run.”

Daniel can’t tell if that is censure in Jack’s voice or not.  Was he angry at the civilian for running or for dying?  Placating words fall off of Daniel’s tongue out of habit.  “There was nothing more any of us could have done.”

Daniel knows he’s chosen poorly when Jack’s eyes flash dangerously.  “Don’t you get it?  He shouldn’t have been there at all!  What the hell are we doing, throwing civilians out in these situations?  This is war.  The sooner we all remember that, the better off we’ll be.”

Now it’s Daniel’s turn to flinch.  This is one argument he had thought long over.  But it’s typical of Jack that just as Daniel feels his place on SG-1 has been proven and solidified time after time, everything abruptly flips back to square one. 

“We all know the risks when we step off world, civilian or not,” Daniel says lowly, refusing to be pushed around by Jack’s uncharacteristic outburst.  “It’s our choice.”

Jack runs an agitated hand through his hair and sighs.  “Yeah.  I guess so.  Only Kellar didn’t get a chance to learn from that did he?”

With that, Jack strides across the room and disappears out the door.

Daniel follows a few moments later to find Sam staring wide-eyed after Jack who has apparently barreled down the hallway without even acknowledging her. 

“Sam,” Daniel says, one hand on her shoulder.

She smiles as if Jack hasn’t just cut her off.

“It was bad,” he says.  He doesn’t know if that is supposed to be an excuse or just an explanation.  She doesn’t particularly seem to be looking for either.  “By the time we got there, only Dr. Kellar was still alive.  He died on the way back to the gate.”

Sam makes a choking sound and it’s only when he sees her face drain of color that Daniel remembers Dr. Kellar had worked in Sam’s lab before he applied for an SG team assignment.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

She determinedly blinks back tears and schools her features, something at which she’s become far too skilled.  Only her trembling fingers give anything away.  Mumbling something about checking on her lab, she pushes down the hallway in the opposite direction.

Watching her, he suddenly has to wonder if Jack’s diatribe had really had anything to do with Daniel’s place on SG-1 after all.

*     *     *

They are usually circumspect on base but Sam can’t ignore the instinct to seek Jack out, self-preservation be damned.

She catches him by the elevators.  Still slightly breathless, she only has a moment to look him over, confirming that he is okay, because the doors slide shut as she is standing there and it’s pretty clear he’s not going to bother stopping them.  But then a beat of resignation crosses his face and he sticks a hand in the door, gesturing for her to climb inside.

Startled, she steps in, but wishes she hadn’t when the doors close and the car chugs into motion.  The small space is filled nearly to bursting with the black cloud radiating off of Jack.

“Are you okay?” she manages to ask, staring straight ahead and watching the numbers tick by.

“Fine,” he says, the word clipped impossibly short.

Sam dares a glance at him.  A small scratch stretches just along the hard edge of his jaw, hiding under a day’s growth of scruff and something dark and horrible and not unfamiliar lurks in his eyes.  She has some small idea of what’s happened, but she can’t find the words to make any of that okay.  This is the Jack O’Neill she’s never gotten a handle on, a far cry from the man of gentle teasing and quick smiles over the breakfast table. 

There are days when he just isn’t there, all connections cut off and all she can think to do is get out of his way.  Because even as she is certain he would _never_ hurt her, she also knows she has probably never met a more dangerous person, aliens and all, than Jack O’Neill on a black day.  Mostly she fights back the urge to ask what’s bothering him and waits for whatever it is to pass.

But today she reaches out to touch his arm, as much a vague attempt to comfort, to be there for him, as to reassure herself.  She shouldn’t be as shocked as she is when he automatically pulls away from the touch.  The doors open with a chime and Jack steps out, sliding on a pair of sunglasses as he goes.

“See you next week, Sam,” he says and she has to fight back the instinctual urge to flinch at the cold dismissal.

The doors slide shut.


	22. Escalation

“Sam?”

Looking up from her desk, Sam finds only Daniel’s head peering somewhat cautiously around the doorjamb of her office as if expecting objects to be thrown at him in response to his simple query.  She feels her temper rise in annoyance only to break apart on a drawn out sigh. Has she really been _that_ unbearable these last few days?  Daniel’s behavior seems to indicate that she has.

“Come on in, Daniel.”

“It’s safe?” he asks, even as the rest of his body appears in the open door.

“Safe as it ever is,” she notes with a wry grin.

Obviously encouraged by her response he circles around her desk and seats himself in an empty chair.  In his casual perusal of her office, she notices him eying the cot piled high with blankets shoved carelessly in the corner.

She meets his eyes across the desk, wordlessly daring him to comment at his own peril.  Wisely, he says nothing, instead sinking back further in the chair and casting about for something a bit safer to rest his eyes upon.

Sure, sleeping in her office is probably a little high on the eccentric scale, but around this place, who’s really in a position to judge?  Certainly not Daniel.  Not that it keeps her from the temptation of confessing to him.  The damn man always seems to have that effect on her.

But how exactly does she explain the strange force that keeps her rooted here, spending nights tossing and turning on her narrow cot?  Contrary to what Daniel may think, she is not haunting this place in hopes of catching a glimpse of the recently returned Jack.  Quite the opposite actually. 

She was quite safe when he had disappeared off on some impromptu vacation to God knew where, but ever since he returned she is frozen by the fear that if she sets so much as a foot outside the Mountain she’ll end up on Jack’s porch, lining herself up for another door slammed in her face.  Right now, she’s not sure she could deal with that.  Hibernation seems a much better option.

“I was wondering if you wanted lunch,” Daniel says with painful casualness, as if he hopes to slip the invitation and the implied company past her without her noticing. 

 _Nice try, Daniel,_ she thinks, barely resisting rolling her eyes at his pleading look.  “Thanks for the offer,” she replies with excruciating politeness, “but I have an appointment I have to keep.”

She crosses to the door, leaving Daniel no choice but to follow.  “I’ll see you later?”

“Sure, Sam,” he says, giving her one last penetrating look before disappearing down the hall.

Once on her feet and out in the hall, Sam has no choice but to find somewhere else to hide for a few hours.  It’s not really a hard decision.

A few minutes later, she pushes open a door, pausing for a moment to take in the rigorous order and calm that is her main lab on level 19.  A few scientists move purposely throughout the space, voices lowered as they discuss various projects.  This lab, acknowledged by all as Sam’s domain, has been transformed over the last year into a dynamic think tank populated by professionals personally chosen by Sam.  She brooks no laziness, fatalism or, more importantly, divas. 

In many ways the air tight secrecy of the place is a blessing, with no hope of public glories many of the scientists are much more willing to share ideas, work projects in tandem, and ask for help whenever it’s needed.  It’s a far cry from the super-competitive world of Academia Sam remembers from her years as a student and greatly successful for the most part.  Under her direction, scientists from this lab have made leaps in military armor, the integration of advanced alien technology into the weapons used by off-world teams, and even a few breakthroughs in the field of agriculture. 

Sam might allow herself a sense of pride if it weren’t for her continuing failure to craft a stable naquadah reactor.  At this point she’s almost convinced there is some karmic faux pas from her last life that is screwing with her.  No matter how nonsensical that sounds, she is completely out of other explanations.

With a sigh Sam turns her back on the end of the lab housing Dr. Burke and the doomed reactor prototype, instead focusing her attention on Dr. Julia Kunis, the newest addition to the lab.  Despite being the geneticist’s first day with full clearance, she already seems hard at work, her dark hair pristinely twisted back from her face, printer humming actively in the background.

“How’s your first day going, Julia?” Sam asks.

“Ah, Dr. Carter,” she says, not bothering to look up from her typing.  “Perfect timing.”  Spinning around in her chair, she snatches a sheaf of papers from the printer.  “I’ve spent the morning skimming the database of alien contacts and I already have a few suggestions.”

Sam suppresses a smile and takes the still warm papers from Julia’s outstretched hand.  “That was quick.”

Julia shrugs.  “From what I understand, there are some rather compelling reasons not to waste any time.”

Most people take a while to absorb the realities of Stargate Command.  Sam herself had taken months to wrap her mind around what they are trying to achieve here.  But Julia, well, Julia has shown from the earliest moment of their acquaintance to be completely unflappable.  When given her first file documenting the existence of alien life, she had simply raised an eyebrow and glanced at Sam for confirmation.  Upon receiving it, she had skimmed the file and asked, “What do you need me to do?”  It seems she had been quite serious, throwing herself in to the work with relish.

Sam looks over Julia’s list of projects to be considered for funding, coming to an abrupt stop on a painfully familiar name.

“Aris Boch,” Sam mumbles.

“Yes, that is a particularly interesting case,” Julia continues briskly, either unaware or uncaring of the tremor in Sam’s voice.  “According to this file he killed eight airmen before being captured and was detained for two weeks at which point he died.”

“Withdrawal,” Sam supplies weakly.  “He claimed to need a substance called _roshnah_ to survive.  It was assumed to be a ploy to ensure his release.  By the time they realized….”

“It was already too late,” Julia says, finally looking up with what might be pity if not for the apparent disinterest in her eyes.

Sam clears her throat and lays the papers down on her desk.  “You hope to develop something with _roshnah_?”

“No,” Julia says, shaking her head.  “I’m much more interested in the alien’s claims of imperviousness to Goa’uld blending.”

“You think there might be something there?”

For the first time, Julia smiles, the expression lending softness to her face.  “Let’s just say that I have a nose for these things.”

“Oh, really?” Sam asks.

“Just give me time.”

Before Sam can reply to that somewhat bolstering display of arrogance, their attention is drawn by an agitated voice from the other end of the lab.

“What are you doing, Sergeant?”

Sam looks up to find Dr. Burke speaking to a sergeant she only recognizes as someone she has passed in the halls on occasion.  The unknown soldier hovers uncomfortably close to the latest naquadah reactor prototype, poking purposely at it, seemingly completely unfazed by Dr. Burke’s inquiry.

Burke reaches for the man’s arm.  “That is very delicate equipment!”

But the sergeant carelessly shoves him to the floor with one hand in what Sam dimly registers as a display of superhuman strength.  Behind her, Julia pushes to her feet, mumbling “What the hell?” under her breath, but Sam is already moving towards the shiny red button on the wall.  She slams her palm against it just as the man looks up at her, his eyes quite literally flashing in anger.

Sirens and red lights fill the lab space, and the sergeant’s face twists in rage as he pulls his weapon from the holster, pointing it towards Sam.  Dropping to the floor behind a lab table, Sam drags Julia down with her, the woman clumsily landing on top of her and temporarily knocking the wind out of them both.  The sharp retort of gunfire reverberates throughout the room, various objects shattering overhead as the two women huddle together.

What seems like ages later, the sound of heavy footsteps and the rattle of P-90s join the general cacophony in the lab.

Silence falls almost as abruptly as it had shattered only minutes before, but still Sam keeps one hand on Julia’s arm, refusing to abandon their hiding spot.

“All clear,” comes the eventual call, Airman Adams cautiously poking his head around the table.  “You all right, Dr. Carter?”

Relief floods her at the appearance of a familiar face.  “I think so,” she says, allowing him to help her to her feet.  Her eyes travel the length of the room, taking in the damage to her domain.  “Is he…?” she asks inarticulately, gesturing towards the place the mysterious sergeant had stood.

Adams eyes dart away from her face before returning.  “Yes, ma’am.”

“Uh, Doctor?” another of airmen asks from the opposite end, pointing to the reactor.  “Is it supposed to be doing that?”

Adams takes her arm and helps her swiftly cross the lab, stepping around broken glass and avoiding the crumpled, bloody body near the back wall.

Sam takes one look at the cycling lights, though, and takes an involuntary step back.  “Out,” she says, her voice breaking on the word.  When no one moves she lifts her head and yells louder.  “Everyone out now!”

The remaining scientists scatter.  Adams grabs Julia by the shoulders, practically shoving her out the door while the other airmen drag the still unconscious Burke to safety.

Once outside the door herself, Sam inputs into the security pad a code she had hoped never to use.  The door automatically slides shut, followed by the heavy thud of secondary blast walls falling into place.

She’s barely taken two steps away from the door when the reactor explodes.  The next thing she knows, she is across the hall staring up at a cracked ceiling.  Black smoke billows out around the door to the lab.  People swarm the halls in all directions, the red lights mixing with the smoke to create an eerie otherworldly feeling. 

Gingerly sitting up, Sam takes a moment to assess her body, feeling nothing more insistent than a general, all over ache.  She casts about for the other members of her lab, just locating Julia leaning against Adams when she catches sight of him.

Jack stands frozen in the middle of the hall less than twenty feet away, his eyes searching the area.  She’s never seen him so uncertain, so on edge, like something on the brink of snapping cleanly in two, but then his eyes come to an abrupt rest on her and she feels all air escape her lungs as if she has just been tossed across the hall again.

The look burns into her memory, a latent image that can’t be shaken.  Dark, intense eyes meeting hers across the smoldering space, the almost infinitesimal relaxation of his shoulders and the clenching of fists as if willing the traitorous edge of panic to leak away.

One moment of forceful connect between them and he turns away, his voice clear and even as he issues orders.

Daniel’s hand on her shoulder jolts her back to her surroundings.  “Are you okay, Sam?”

She’s not sure how to answer that.  But she waves off the medic at Daniel’s side and lets him help her to her feet.

“He was a Goa’uld,” she says as she looks around at the damage, remembering superhuman strength and eerily glowing eyes.

Daniel sighs heavily and nods at her news, stepping out of the way of passing personnel.  “It seems Apophis is finally turning his attention to the Tau’ri,” he observes, his jaw set.

It feels a bit like a death sentence and Sam’s torn between envy and pity for the billions of humans who have no idea what is coming their way.

“Dr. Carter,” Julia says, appearing at her side with what appear to be files still clutched in her hands.

“Julia,” Sam says with exasperation.  “We’ve just shared our first near death experience, I think you should probably call me Sam.”

For the first time, Julia looks slightly shaken.  _“First_ near death experience?” she repeats.

“Welcome to the SGC,” Sam says, her eyes of their own accord seeking out Jack once more in the chaos.

*     *     *

Only three hours after the Goa’uld’s foiled attempt to blow up the Mountain, Jack is completely unsurprised to find Sam ensconced in her office, despite the doctor’s recommendation for rest.  She types purposely at her laptop, but her fingers pause the moment his shadow falls across her desk.  She doesn’t look up, or resume her typing.

He lets his eyes travel over her, noting that she hasn’t even bothered to change.  Black soot stains the pristine white of her lab coat and her hair escapes messily down her back.  Jack is filled with the undeniable urge to get her the hell away from this place.  He reaches for her hand and she rises from her chair at his gentle insistence.

He expects her to say no, maybe even hopes for it a little bit, but she follows him into the hall, the elevator, all the way to his truck without comment and is silent on the drive, her head resting against the passenger window.  All Jack can think of is seeing her across that chaotic room and the way everything had seemed to freeze, fade away.

He remembers nothing of the drive other than the feel of her hand, cool and slender in his own.

His fingers are sure and insistent against her skin before the front door to his house properly closes.  He makes short work of the buttons of her blouse, dropping the garment carelessly to the floor.  Sam reaches for the surface of the door, leaning her weight against it to slam it solidly shut, stumbling slightly.  But Jack is there; his hands pressed against her waist, holding her steady, mouth working avidly along the line of her collarbone.

A small bruise is already forming on her shoulder and Jack stops inches from it, his fingers brushing smoothly across the purpling flesh.

“I’m okay, Jack,” she whispers, the first words spoken between them in almost a week.

His hands betray him for the barest fleeting moment as they tremble.  He wants to confess to her, to tell her that he panicked when he first entered that charred hallway.  It’s his job to be leveled-headed and objective even in the worst situations, but for a moment he had almost let the panic win.

He wants to tell her about the burning ache in his gut when he thought something might have happened to her.  He wants to ask her what exactly she had felt when she thought him lost on Edora. To speak of things never spoken between them before.

To apologize.

But he doesn’t speak, because he’d almost panicked and that is unforgivable.  Instead, he lets her lead him to his bedroom and undress him carefully before pushing him back on the bed.  He watches her reveal smooth, creamy flesh inch by careful inch as if to convince him of her uninjured state.

And when she reaches for him, pulling his mouth down to hers, he pushes back the horrible feeling that he has already revealed too much of himself.  He lets all thoughts and concerns fall away under the spell woven by her hands, her mouth.

No matter how convoluted or confusing anything else is between them, they at least always have the solidity of flesh.

*     *     *

Sam pushes herself up, leaning back against the headboard, her knees drawn protectively into her chest.  Jack lies sprawled on his stomach, having finally succumbed to the lure of sleep.  She knows from the deep lines creasing his face even in the relaxation of slumber that he hasn’t been sleeping any better than she has this past week.

She wishes she found that comforting. 

Looking back, she can barely remember how this thing between them began.  All she knows is that now they are doing their best to destroy one another.  When had this ceased to be about lazy smirks and days spent out in the sun?

She knows she should leave, slip away from his bed in the cover of darkness.  Cowardly, maybe, but probably best for them both.

Jack stirs restlessly in his sleep and without thinking she presses one hand against the small of his back.  He settles down under the touch, his slow, even breathing filling the room once more.

She stares at her hand contrasting against his skin and remembers something Daniel said to her a few days after he first stumbled upon her half-naked in Jack’s backyard. 

 _I’m really happy for both of you.  You’re just...good for him, you know?  When I first met him, I think he had almost given up.  But now...it’s just nice to see him happy._

Sam isn’t ready to be that woman.  She can’t be in charge of saving anyone.  Not even herself.

She remembers a burning look and the feel of trembling fingers.

She should leave.

But when the morning sun finally creeps into the room, Sam is still there to watch Jack stir to wakefulness.  She lets him kiss her and smiles when he offers to make her waffles.  She ignores the feeling that her face has become little more than a mask to hide things behind.

Watching him move around the room pulling on clothes as if this were a morning like any other, she finally understands why Jack likes to pretend.

It’s so much easier than honesty.


	23. Diplopia

An unfamiliar car is sitting in Sam’s driveway when Jack drops her off after a lazy Sunday brunch at his favorite little breakfast place.  It’s one of the few moments they’ve managed to steal together in weeks and his hand is slung across the back of her seat as he drives, his fingers caressing careless circles into the back of her neck.  Wind blows through the partially open window and Sam has her eyes closed, reveling in the mix of sensation, sun and wind on her face and the warmth sliding down her spine at the gentle dance of Jack’s fingers.

As they pull up in front of her house near the intruding car though, the hand stills, breaking the delicate moment.  Her eyes slide across her front yard and next to her Jack tenses at the presence of an unknown person in the driveway  She tells herself that’s just his training.  A soldier at every moment.

She reaches for Jack’s arm, even as the visitor turns to observe them.  “It’s Jeff.”

The name hangs heavily in the car, a subject never broached between them.  Just like Sam never asks about the photos in Jack’s house.

“Do you want me to...,” Jack says, gesturing vaguely towards her house.

Sam shakes her head.  Something about these two particular men inhabiting the same space makes her fear for the integrity of the fabric of space.  But maybe she’s just being fanciful.

“I’ll be fine,” she says with a smile she hopes is reassuring.

Jack’s eyes narrow, letting her know he doesn’t buy it.  But he doesn’t call her on it either.  “Give me a call later,” he says instead and she can’t decide if his concern is comforting or cloying.

“Sure,” she agrees, trying not to pull away when he leans over to kiss her, far too aware of Jeff’s eyes on them both.

Sam steps down out of Jack’s truck and waits for him to drive away before she lets herself turn and acknowledge Jeff.  Not once has she seen him since she left so abruptly more than three years ago.  She has no idea what she should be feeling.

Forcing herself around to look at him, she can only think that he looks the same.  Sam feels aged, as if centuries of experience spread between them, but he hasn’t aged even a moment.  There is a beat of exquisite familiarity, of a life lived together, but then he shifts, his expression distant and Sam’s back on the outside where she belongs.

She stops halfway up her path, barely close enough to speak without raised voices.

The sun glints off a ring on his hand that isn’t hers.  She hadn’t been invited to his wedding, not that she expected to be.  She has no right to think about how quickly he found someone to replace her. 

Jeff gave her fair warning of his marriage of course, but there hadn’t been a personal meeting.  Just a courteous phone call in honor of what they had once shared.  She can’t think what might require him to travel so far, to cover the treacherous distance between them to see her today.

She doesn’t invite him in and the way he hugs the very edge of the driveway tells her it would be unwelcome anyway.

“I’m going to be a father,” Jeff says by way of greeting, probably deciding to circumvent any painful small talk or excuses.  Just the brutal, gut-wrenching truth.

Sam feels herself sway on the spot under the impact.  Jeff takes one half step forward before stopping himself, as if remembering that he is no longer that guy.  He glances back in the direction that Jack’s truck has disappeared into, undoubtedly wishing the other man back.

“Sam,” Jeff eventually says in a tone that Sam can feel travel all the way down to her toes.  “You have to know that I-.”

But Sam doesn’t want to hear it.  She blurts, “Congratulations, Jeff,” with as much strength as she can muster, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Jeff looks like he might stubbornly finish what he wanted to say, but then the lines smooth from his face and he sighs a soft breath of regret that is painfully familiar from the last year of their marriage.

“Really, Jeff,” Sam says, focusing on her breathing and not the way everything is turning fuzzy and numb around the edges.  “You’ll be a great father.  I’ve always thought so.”

She starts moving up the path once more, seeking the solitude of the house that she still struggles to think of as a home.

“You deserve to be happy,” Jeff says.

Sam thinks that must be some kind of non-sequitur until she turns back to look at him and he’s glancing after Jack’s truck again.

 _No_ , is all Sam can think as she tries not to scream.  _Too much, too much._

“Be happy, Sam,” he says before moving back to his car.  She doesn’t know if that is a command or simply permission.  She doesn’t particularly want either.

She waits for him to drive away, but first he pulls out a small cardboard box and leaves it on the edge of her garden like a ticking time bomb.

They don’t say goodbye.

*     *     *

The box burns a hole in Sam’s mind for three weeks.  It takes all her energy to convince Jack that she is fine, that Jeff has in no way upset her.  An emergency or two on base makes that easier than it should be.  
 _  
You deserve to be happy._

She knows that.  But every time Jack touches her, all she can think about is how wrong it feels.

She can’t remember how she got here.


	24. Say It Right

He’s been off world for almost eleven days, an extended diplomatic stay because some important chief had insisted on dealing only with Daniel.  Something about the honesty of the man’s face.

Sometimes Jack wishes Daniel weren’t quite so good at his job.

Jack’s feet hit the grate with a weary clang, welcomed back to the dim interior by Hammond’s traditional greeting.

Unexpectedly, Sam isn’t there to greet them.  She’s never in the actual gate room, nothing so obvious, but she makes a habit of being somewhere between the gate and the locker room when he’s scheduled to return.  He didn’t realize how much he appreciated it until she suddenly isn’t there.

The briefing seems indeterminably long, though he can’t be sure if that is because of Daniel’s moment by moment retelling of the diplomatic process or because of the weird looks he keeps getting from Hammond. 

Having finally fallen into a briefing coma, Jack almost jerks out of his chair when Hammond stands.  “SG-1 you are on downtime until Thursday.”

The team scatters with impressive efficiency, proving that Jack is not the only one to have exhausted his need for team togetherness.  Eleven days is a long time to be cloistered with anyone, close friends or not.  Even Teal’c’s serenity had worn a little thin by the end.

But luckily that is now all of the past and Jack has way more important things on his mind, such as the still absent Sam.  Like he said, eleven days is a long time.  He heads straight for her office, assuming she is still knee deep in reactor schematics trying to pick out exactly how many different ways the Goa’uld spy sabotaged them.  As he recalls, she had been too pissed at the gall of the spy to even be relieved that the flaws were not been of her making.  He hopes that at the very least this means her obsession with karma may have faded.

Pencils everywhere must be giving thanks.

As expected, he does find Sam in her office, just up to her elbows in a huge gray crate rather than reports.  She’s so completely absorbed that she doesn’t even hear him enter.

“Rack up another success for SG-1,” Jack says by way of greeting.

Sam jerks upright, a hand flying to her chest.  “Jack.  You frightened me.”

He shrugs apologetically.  “I thought you’d want to know that thanks to Daniel, you now have more than enough naquadah to run a lifetime of experiments.”

“Good to hear,” she says distractedly, her eyes already back on the objects at her feet.

Jack raises an eyebrow at the blasé answer, not to mention his rather lukewarm reception.  Eleven days!  Stepping around yet another crate in the dangerously crowded room, Jack moves over to lean against her desk.  “Any word on when construction on your lab might finish up?”

Sam shakes her head.  “It’s been decided that the naquadah reactor project is too dangerous to continue working on here.  That and some other things we’ve been developing.”

Jack’s not too surprised.  They’ve recently implemented mandatory MRI scans to rule out future infiltrations, but the threat is still very real and Earth seems very fragile these days.

“They’re being moved to the Beta Site,” Sam continues.  “Hammond offered me Head of Research and Development there.  A new lab and I get to choose my own team.”

It’s only then that Jack’s sluggish brain registers the fact that she is packing.

“I told Hammond I would take it,” she says, her back still to him.

Jack nods despite the fact that she can’t see him.  Beyond the rather overwhelming sensation of having been blindsided, he also dimly registers that moving to another planet is the sort of life altering thing couples usually discuss together.  You know, before the packing starts.

“Not that I could really say no,” Sam continues, the words tumbling together as if she’s trying to get them out in a rush.  Or as if she’s practiced them.  “We all know it’s only a matter of time until Apophis makes a serious run against Earth.  This research is vital if we want to survive.”

She’s right; it’s just weird to hear those words coming from her, like she’s been spending too much time reading tactical reports.  “Did you want to say no?” Jack finally says, finding his voice.

“It’s a huge step up for my career,” she says.  He’s not sure that actually answers his question.

She looks haggard, Jack realizes.  Far too skinny, more like the pale ghost she had been when she first arrived years ago.  He tries not to think too hard about what might have done this to her again, too scared that it might be him.

He remembers her being so full of life.

“We should be able to work something out,” Jack offers, still a little dazed but trying to be supportive.  “Hammond will let me take my downtime off world.”

Sam sets down a book with an audible thump and leans heavily on the table, both hands spread wide across the surface.  “I just…I really need some space right now.”

She turns around then to stare at him and Jack’s beginning to feel inexplicably stupid for his offer.  She’s having a hard time holding his gaze and that’s what finally slides the last puzzle piece into place.  She’s not just leaving Earth. 

She’s leaving him.

“I see,” Jack finally says, taking a step back.  “This isn’t just a change of location then.”

He watches her fingers curl into determined fists.  “The Goa’uld are coming.  Everything has to center around that.  My work-.”

“Don’t,” Jack says, raising his hand.  He can’t stand to hear her blame their jobs for this.  They deserve so much more than that suffocating patina of altruism.

Sam turns away again; flitting around the room making piles of objects whose logic is way beyond him.  Against his better judgment, Jack reaches out and grabs her arm, pulling her close, forcing her into stillness.  Her eyes dart nervously towards the nearest surveillance camera and he realizes with growing anger that she’s handpicked her office for this particular scene to avoid too much drama.  He wonders how many times she’s run through this conversation to work out all the variables.

A thousand biting responses rise on his tongue and the instinct to lash out is almost irresistible.  Is that what she expected?  But he shoves that all away in a desperate bid to understand what exactly has just happened. 

“Why are you doing this?” 

The earnestness of his tone seems to throw Sam for a moment and her face betrays mounting panic before it wipes clean like a curtain falling.  It’s chilling to see and so unlike the Sam he thought he knew.

“We both knew what this was,” she says then, her voice light and cavalier and it makes Jack’s gut burn.  She’s already talking about them in the past tense.

“And what’s that?”

Something dangerous must have leaked into Jack’s voice unintentionally because she stills abruptly.  But then she straightens her shoulders, squarely meets his eyes and unapologetically announces, “A pleasant way to pass the time.”

Coldness doesn’t suit her, Jack thinks as her words impact him almost physically.  “That’s all, huh?” he says, fury turning his words calm and excruciatingly even.

“Yes,” she replies, not even blinking.

For one second he feels pole-axed, but then he recovers, nodding once in understanding.  It’s not like they ever promised each other anything.  Right?

“Okay then,” he says, his voice tight.  He forces himself to drop her arm and step away.  If she wants space, he can give that to her.  He imagines half a galaxy should be enough. 

He’s almost out the door when she speaks.

“I was never going to be what you needed anyway,” she says so softly he’s not sure he was supposed to hear it.  He’s almost convinced there’s a twinge of guilt in her voice, but by the time he turns around again she is glacial, all hard edges and unapologetic honesty.

“I don’t even know what that means,” he says, frustration giving way to complete exhaustion.

It’s possible he only imagines that her smile is sad.  “I know,” is all she says before returning to her packing.

Jack recognizes a dismissal when he sees one.  For a moment he considers grabbing her again, wrenching her around and demanding to know just what the hell this is all about, but standing there watching her, he remembers the feel of Kellar’s blood on his hands and the sting of smoke in his eyes as he ran through endless hallways.

He turns and walks out.

*     *     *

A week later Jack watches Sam step up the event horizon, her fingers dancing carefully over the surface and all he can think is that it should be him.  He should be the one to take her through the gate for the first time.  He should be the one to stand by her side and watch her expression as it filled with awe and she babbled about the feel of physics. He should be there to give in to the perverse desire to push her through.  He can almost hear her indignant squeal as he did so.

It should be him.

But then she steps through without him and disappears.


	25. Still Waters

Daniel, Evan and Teal’c watch the rapid unraveling of Sam and Jack’s relationship from a distance, never commenting more than shared glances now and again.

None of them have any details, but as Daniel watches Sam pack up and step through the gate, he braces himself for the resurgence of Jack at his most unpleasant.  God knows the man never dealt particularly well with loss. 

But pissed-off Jack never materializes.  Anything having to do with Sam is predictably dropped from his vocabulary almost overnight, but rather than belligerence, Jack leans towards silence, maybe even introspection.

Jack deals with every member of his team with almost limitless patience, hardly raising his voice, let alone giving the bad guys lip.  It’s terribly unnerving.  Daniel’s pretty sure any of them would prefer being yelled at.

Not that Jack has lost his edge or anything.  His expertise now just shows an edge of economy that none of them have witnessed before.  Daniel watches his friend’s intense concentration on the details of his job and all he can think is ‘still waters run deep.’

None of them are looking forward to finding out just how deep that is.

*     *     *

Jack signs the last memo and adds it to the appropriate pile.  Leaning back in his chair, he takes a moment to admire the tidy stacks of completed paperwork.  This is probably the first time he’s been completely caught up since he first set foot in this place.

That _should_ feel like an accomplishment.

With a sigh, Jack reaches for the briefing notes about SG-1’s upcoming mission.  Being responsible isn’t nearly as much fun, and frankly, it gives him a headache.  Which naturally explains why Daniel chooses this exact moment to appear in the doorway.

“I’m not a very good friend,” he announces without preamble.

“What?” Jack says, feeling his headache give a particularly nasty throb at Daniel’s confusing words.

“Although, I _did_ help Sam pack and move all her stuff into storage,” he continues as he walks into the office.  “That has to be worth something.”

Jack sighs, resigning himself to the fact that Daniel is here to stay and wants to talk about Sam.  Honestly, he’s surprised he hasn’t had to deal with this conversation before now.  Daniel’s curiosity doesn’t often let him keep his mouth shut for two whole months on any topic, let alone something as potentially juicy as a break-up must be. 

“Dare I hope there is actually a point to this ramble?” Jack eventually asks.

Daniel ignores him and drops a small box on the desk, scattering what semblance of order Jack has managed to wrest.  He’s ready to work himself up to mild indignation when he notices that the box is labeled with the name Samantha Fleming.  And it’s been opened.

Jack peers up at Daniel in askance.

“Sam asked me to throw this out while I was helping her pack, but I kept it,” Daniel explains.  “I guess that makes me a bad friend.”

Jack doesn’t respond, or move to touch the box, but Daniel reaches over, pulls it open and begins spreading the objects over the desk.

The first is a photograph of Sam standing in front of a large turkey, pristine white apron tied around her waist.  A bountiful feast spreads out in front of her like some Norman Rockwell painting and a teenaged boy leans in devilishly next to her, his fingers stuck in the mashed potatoes.  Sam looks like she is seriously considering rapping the kid’s knuckles with a spatula.

Against his will, Jack feels a smile creep across his face.  But then Daniel slaps down another photo and another, giving the effect of a slide show of Sam’s life before the SGC.

There’s one of Sam in a long, black evening gown on the arm of a handsome laughing man Jack registers as Jeff.  Sam sitting with an older man and woman who must be her parents.  A much younger Sam in her doctorate robes, clutching her degree, her eyes wide and staring at something outside the frame of the picture.

“Why would she throw these out?” Jack asks when he finally finds his voice.

Daniel reaches into the box and pulls out one last photo from the bottom.  In the picture is Sam standing by a window, gazing serenely out the window, her hands splayed over her obviously protruding stomach.

“Sam has a kid?” Jack asks.

“Or had,” Daniel replies carefully, looking distinctly disappointed at Jack’s response.

“What makes you think-.”

Daniel turns the photo over and points to a date stamp.  “This was taken a year before she started working here.  I know she left Jeff to come here, but does she really seem the type to leave her child?”

Jack shook his head.  “I didn’t know.  She never said anything.”

“And that surprises you?”

Jack doesn’t particularly like the accusatory edge to Daniel’s voice.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did you ever tell her about Charlie and Sara?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with this.”

Suddenly Daniel looks exhausted.  “No, you wouldn’t, would you?”

“Daniel,” Jack warns.

“I guess it’s just disappointing,” Daniel continues as if Jack never spoke.  “Everything looked so nice from the outside, but you really didn’t know anything about each other.”

Jack’s not in the mood to debate the relative strengths and weaknesses of a relationship barely cold in the ground.  Two months isn’t nearly enough to take the edge off yet.

“Must have been some great sex.”

The comment catches Jack completely off guard, something snapping and his fist slams against the top of his desk before he’s even aware of the impulse.  He stares at the offending hand, feeling the throb of pain through the unexpected pulse of pure rage. 

“Daniel,” he forces through his clenched jaw, “you want to leave this office right now.” 

The soft click of the door is Jack’s cue that Daniel has taken his advice.  Blissfully alone once again, he is left with Sam’s discarded box of secrets and Daniel’s words ringing in his ears.

He wishes to hell he didn’t have either.


	26. Let There Be Morning

Sam likes the Beta Site, she decides after two months.  The Stargate is actually outside in a clearing and while seeing it in the rain and moonlight seems a bit surreal at first, now it just feels _right_.  From what Colonel Reynolds has told her, it’s actually much more common to find gates out in the open.

Sam’s not going to lie, having a lab filled with cutting edge equipment, brilliant scientists, _and_ living above ground is about as close to heaven as she can imagine.  Plus, when the over-protective Reynolds comes around to complain that Sam’s been holed up too long, she just points at her window and says, “This is more sunshine than I usually see in a month on Earth!”

She can tell he’d really like to reply with something snippy, but he’s got this gentlemanly streak going that keeps him holding his tongue.  Sam wonders how long that can possibly last in such close quarters.

Sixty people alone on a distant planet.  Realistically, Sam expects there to be friction.  But quickly enough, the twenty scientists and forty soldiers mesh into a community.  Considering it’s impossible to actually leave work, they’ve developed various forms of recreation.  The benign, predator-free planet offers a lot of opportunities for walks, but even beyond that, they have a volleyball court set up in the back and Lt. Freeman instituted a weekly No Limit Texas Hold ‘Em tournament the first day they were here.

There is an outdoor range set up as well, but Sam can’t quite bring herself to pick up a gun. With Reynolds and his battalion around, it’s easy to feel safe.  She doesn’t know if it’s the constant work or the abundance of fresh air, but she hasn’t had a nightmare in weeks.

So, other than the odd difference of opinion between people forced into close quarters, life here is rather bucolic. 

Sure, the twenty-hour days take a lot of getting used to.  Not to mention the twelve-hour nights.  For a woman used to surviving on five or six hours of sleep a night, twelve hours of darkness has been rather indeterminable.  Especially because Reynolds won’t let them have a night shift in the labs in order to conserve their power sources.  Which is doubly painful, because if she just managed to finally perfect the naquadah reactor, power wouldn’t be such an issue.  But even her internal clock eventually synchs up with the rhythms of the new planet.

In fact, the only remaining point of contention is the name of the planet.  ‘Beta Site’ doesn’t do justice to the gently rolling hills burnished gold by the increasingly brilliant summer sun (which is another weird factor, seeing as how it’s deep winter back in Colorado right now). 

Julia wants to call the planet Fresno.  Sam’s more partial to something like Ponderosa.  Reynolds just gets this pained look whenever Sam brings it up.  Apparently P3X-984 is poetic enough for him.  Other than his lack of imagination, though, Reynolds proves to be an ideal commander.

Two months of such an existence and Sam has gained back fifteen pounds.  (“You know, Sam,” Julia observes one day, “you no longer look like death walking.”  From Julia, Sam knows that is as close to a compliment as you can get.)  The lab has made great strides on all fronts.  They even eventually test one of Sam’s naquadah reactor prototypes, successfully powering one of the smaller labs for an afternoon with nary a spark to be seen.  And when a smile occasionally slips across Sam’s face, it feels a bit like victory.

In short, Sam is thriving.

Which is probably why, when a small package arrives for her in the weekly shipment from Earth, she doesn’t automatically throw it away, but slips away to her quarters to face it in private.

The package just has ‘Sam’ scrawled across the top in handwriting she instantly recognizes as Jack’s.

Jack.

Another benefit of the place is that with all the organizing and settling in and working out a new system there is little time to think too hard about what she’s left behind (again).  About the bridges she has shamelessly burned.

She’s still deciding if her move here had been born of courage or just blinding panic.  Or at least she would be, if she dared turn her mind to it.  But with the package in her hands, it’s hard not to.

She has no expectations as to what might be inside, but the last thing she ever would have guessed is a brown leather photo album full of photos Jack should have no access to.  But instead of wondering where the hell he might have gotten them, Sam is caught by the image of Jack hunched over the beautiful album, organizing the photos, placing the tiny corners on each one, and the twisting pain in her chest she’s become so adept at ignoring climbs back to the surface.

She absently rubs at her chest and starts flipping through the pages.  The album is generally chronological.  The first pages are filled with a few pictures of her as a child, a young woman, a Ph.D. candidate.  There is one of Sam with her parents that fills her with longing.

Sam and Jeff at a charity event.

She knows what is coming next, but can’t stop looking, like a rubbernecker at the scene of a horrific traffic accident.

Her first instinct is to slam her palm down on the image of her swelled body, the content gleam to her face.  Her fingers curl into the photo, the paper creaking in protest.  But then her eyes dart down lower on the page to see a face she’s not familiar with.  A small boy peers up at her, his sandy hair an endearingly disheveled mess. The photo is ratted and careworn around the edges as if it has been carried about for a long time.  She rakes her memory for a moment, trying to place the child, but she can’t come up with anything. 

Sam carefully pulls the photo out of the mounting corners, turning it over.

 _Charlie O’Neill, 1989-1996_

Her heart slams painfully as she refuses to believe what this means.  Forcing herself to turn the photo back over, she studies the young face, looking for traces of Jack. They aren’t hard to find.

Something about that young, hopeful face breaks the armor of denial Sam’s been huddled under for months.  She feels wetness on her cheeks and stares at tears glistening on the tips of her fingers.  Years have passed since she allowed herself the weakness of tears.

Not since…Aris Boch.

But she doesn’t think of the dead alien, but rather Jack, how she’d wept on him and whispered her secrets.

Not all of them, though.  Not the important ones.

For the first time, Sam is grateful for twelve hours of darkness.  Under it’s cover she weeps for her abandoned life, for the men she’d walked away from, and for a small boy with chocolate eyes.

The next morning she wakes feeling empty, drained out, but it’s a relief, like a pressure valve has finally been released somewhere.  With steady hands she forces herself to look once more at the pages, this time her finger trailing reverently over the curve of her stomach.

Turning the page, she is surprised to find even more photos.  One of Daniel and herself leaning intently over cups of coffee, deep in discussion.  Evan at a barbeque, wearing a god awful frilly apron and smiling as if he couldn’t care less.  Teal’c frowning at the camera from beneath a snazzy fedora.

And at the very end, a photo of Jack leaning into Sam, saying something with a wry smirk.  It’s her own face, though, that captures Sam’s attention.

She looks...happy.

Sam closes the album and carefully places it on the top shelf of her closet.  Sunshine.  Right now she desperately needs sunshine.

Tracking down Julia, Sam asks her to go on a walk because they aren’t allowed to go out alone and she knows the woman will respect her silence.

Cool air clings to the grass on the dark side of the hills where the early morning sun has yet to penetrate.  Julia trails behind Sam and there is no sound other than the brush of tall grasses against their legs as they cut a new path through the landscape.

Sam’s a little out of breath by the time they summit the third hill, the sun finally breaking free of the horizon.  She pauses under an enormous spreading oak tree to watch the sun’s progress across the landscape.

“Why did you come here, Julia?” Sam asks, breaking the silence.

Julia takes her time settling down in the tall grass, legs stretched out in front of her.  “Because you asked?”

“Somehow I have a hard time believing that,” Sam says, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree.

They enjoy their view in silence for another ten minutes before Julia speaks again.  “What would you like to hear?  That I came here for career advancement?  The thrill of discovery?  The chance to save my planet?”

“I’d like the truth.”

Julia stares at her, a relentless, penetrating gaze.  “We’re all running from something, Sam.  That doesn’t make what we’re doing here any less important.”

Sam knows she must look a little shocked, both that she unerringly hit so close to home and that Julia herself might be running away.  But Sam doesn’t ask the question and Julia doesn’t offer to elaborate.

So they just watch the sun creep across the hills in silence.

Hours later, back in her quarters, Sam sits staring at a blank sheet of paper, the album resting open on her lap.

Sam knows she should write back, give Jack _something_.  She wants to.  But every time she picks up a pen to say, “Her name was going to be Jane,” “I would do anything to give your son back to you,” or “Thank you,” three traitorous words pour out instead.

 _I miss you._

In the end, she writes nothing.

Maybe by the time her first leave rolls around, she’ll have discovered the right words.

For now, the hope is enough.


	27. Fringe Benefits

Evan Lorne is quite aware that being on SG-1 has its perks.  Not anything obvious like more money or private quarters, but in a million little ways that he couldn’t have imagined before.  Like when a mysterious deep space message is received by the SGC, they are usually the first to know about it.  Mostly because Daniel is the one interpreting and translating it.

Just this very morning Evan had been having a quiet cup of coffee with O’Neill when Daniel ran into the commissary with that ‘I just found a new shiny object that might change life as we know it’ gleam in his eyes.  Evan’s noticed over the last year that this look is usually followed by hours spent watching Daniel mumble to himself and peer at dusty old walls, while Teal’c and O’Neill escape to ‘check the perimeter.’

This morning, though, Evan was instead treated to a rendition of the Jack and Daniel Show that often leaves him with a crick in his neck from the rapid fire back and forth, and a wry grin from the way these two seemingly opposite men compliment each other even as they drive each other completely batty. 

Today, it went a bit like this:  
   
Daniel [excitedly and with wild hand gestures]: “Jack!  Did you hear about the deep space message Walter picked up yesterday?”

Jack [sedately, picking invisible fuzz from his coffee]: “Yeah.”

Daniel: “I just finished the translation.”

Jack [mildly and with little overt interest]: “Anything interesting?”

Daniel [with annoyance]: “You could say that.  _Beware the Destroyers. They come from 3, 32, 16, 8, 10, 12_.”

Jack: “That’s it?”

Daniel [brow creased, looking slightly deflated]: “Uh, yeah.”

Jack: “Not exactly wordy, are they?”

Daniel: “No, not really.”

Jack: “And the numbers?”

Daniel: “Gate address, I imagine.”

Jack: “Do we have any idea where the message came from?”

Daniel [looking a bit more animated]: “Dr. Lee traced it to P3R-233.”

Jack [considering]: “What are our chances this isn’t a trap?”

Daniel [wryly]: “With our luck?”

Jack: “Right.”  [Pushing to his feet and gesturing to Evan]  “Might as well go pay a visit to Hammond.”

Evan considers the built in entertainment value of his team just another perk.  Of course, the flip side of being the first to know everything is that SG-1 is also always the first to voluntarily throw themselves into insanely dangerous situations.

Like right at this moment.

They are standing in a large room draped in shadows as the wormhole behind them shuts down.  Feeble grey light slants into the space from various windows and skylights.  There is not the tiniest sign of life. 

The four of them linger on the steps, none of them particularly interested in straying too far into the grey space.  Except Daniel, that is.

By now, Evan automatically follows Daniel every time they set foot on a new planet.  O’Neill has made it pretty clear that Evan’s main duties are to stay positive and keep Daniel out of mortal peril as much as possible.  Easier said than done.

Daniel is the only one of them not obviously creeped out by this desolate place.  His specially attuned radar has him striding away from the gate, peering into rooms ringing the main hall.  He’s just about to disappear entirely into one doorway when Teal’c’s voice reaches them.

“We must return to Earth as quickly as possible.”

Teal’c’s voice betrays no overt emotion, but Evan has long ago learned to trust that particular tone.  Reaching out, Evan grabs Daniel by the back of the collar and bodily drags the sputtering man back.  These days it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Evan can’t quite make out O’Neill’s reply to Teal’c’s pronouncement over Daniel’s protests that he saw Something Important and needs to go back for just a minute.

Evan tries to remind himself that he wanted to be on SG-1.  Remember all the perks.

When O’Neill finally catches sight of them, he nods approvingly at Evan’s corralling of Daniel and points his finger at a rather menacing black marker looming off to the side of the Stargate.  Daniel, fickle man that he is, instantly forgets all other Things of Importance and begins examining the marker as if it’s the only artifact in the galaxy.

“It is the _korosh-ni_ ,” Teal’c explains.  “A symbol left behind by Apophis on worlds he has completely eradicated and left poisoned.  It is not wise to linger in such a place.”

“Good enough for me,” O’Neill says.  “Back to the gate.”

“But-,” Daniel sputters.

“We’ve got the answers we needed, Daniel.”

“Don’t you know what this means?”

O’Neill ignores the question, already heading back to the gate and gesturing for Evan to dial it up.  Evan starts pressing the glyphs, but Daniel hasn’t quite given up yet.

“It means the ‘destroyers’ are the Goa’uld, specifically Apophis,” Daniel says.

O’Neill heaves a sigh.  “And the gate address they sent us might provide a way to strike at Apophis before he gets the chance to destroy Earth.  Yes, Daniel, we all got there.  Now can we get out of here?”

Daniel opens his mouth to argue, but at this point Evan imagines it’s more out of habit than actual umbrage. 

O’Neill just raises a finger in the universal gesture of ‘don’t push your luck’ and takes on the task of corralling Daniel up to the active wormhole himself, leaving Teal’c and Evan to follow.

Evan glances at the ugly, black scar of a sculpture again.  “ _Korosh-ni_?” he asks.

Teal’c nods.

Evan sighs.  “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Indeed,” Teal’c agrees.

They share one look and follow their teammates through the Stargate.

*     *     *

“You want to _what_?”

Evan is pretty amazed at Hammond’s ability to still sound stunned when SG-1 comes up with a crazy plan.  It’s not like they do it everyday, but often enough that Hammond should know to expect it.  Or maybe it’s just that SG-1’s plans are getting crazier and crazier.

Evan glances at Hammond.  Yeah.  There’s a vein beating out a particularly vivid pulse just above his temple.  This plan must be crazier than usual.

“This is a very real chance of striking at Apophis before he finally gets around to decimating Earth,” Jack says.

“He has never made a direct run on Earth before,” Hammond points out.  It’s true that Apophis has so far preferred to kill them off by means of subterfuge and bounty hunters, but the threat of a full on attack has been on everyone’s minds for the past year.

“Apophis has been busy dominating the system lords, but now that he’s won, he has more than enough time to turn his attention to the humans,” Daniel says.  “He won’t have forgotten our flight from Chulak, or the death of Ra.”

“He destroyed these people’s planet.  We would be foolish not to assume the same fate is on its way to us,” Jack adds.

“I agree we can’t ignore this, but your plan...”  Hammond pauses, running a hand over the top of his head.  Not for the first time, Evan wonders if the general had more hair before he took on command of the SGC.  Or met Jack O’Neill.    “It would be suicide,” he finally finishes.

“Maybe,” O’Neill says with a shrug.  “Maybe not.”

Hammond looks in no way reassured by O’Neill’s cavalier attitude.  “I’m not ordering anyone on this mission, Jack.”

“And if you had volunteers, sir?”

Hammond looks around the table at each of them.  When his gaze falls on Evan, he gazes steadily back, not letting any of his own misgivings about this mission show.

Hammond nods his reluctant approval and pushes to his feet.  “Be careful,” he says.

“Always, sir,” O’Neill replies.

They remain seated at the table after Hammond disappears into his office.  O’Neill looks at each of them in turn before saying, “You heard what Hammond said, this mission is completely voluntary.  No one will think less of anyone who doesn’t want to go.  We know this may be a long shot.”

Evan barely manages to disguise a snort of disbelief as a cough.  A long shot?  Snowball’s chance in hell is more like it.

Teal’c speaks up first, staring straight ahead.  “I will accompany you, O’Neill.”

“Me, too,” Daniel says, his eyes bright as if with fever and Evan remembers with a jolt just another thing that might be waiting for them on the other side of this insane trip: Daniel’s abducted wife who is even now under the control of Apophis’ queen.

O’Neill’s gaze is on Evan now, waiting for a response.

Evan knows these three men each have something intensely personal invested in this particular mission: loved ones to save, freedom to win.  These are goals more than worthy of the risk.

He nods at the others.  “Wouldn’t miss it, sir.”

O’Neill smiles a feral sort of one-sided smirk that Evan finds bizarrely comforting.  “We leave at 1500 hours.”

Getting the chance to be a big damn hero: just another perk.  Yup, his life certainly has gotten interesting since he joined SG-1.


	28. Rush

Sam is running.

The steady pound, pound, pound of her feet battles for dominance with the asynchronous thud of her overworked heart.  The ground under her feet is uneven, crumbling and curving, a dried out impression of the creek that once flowed here in a softer season.  Today the only liquid present is the insidious trail of sweat that trickles down Sam’s face, seeping down her neck. 

The chalky clay and tangled roots of the trees arching overhead have already laid claim to her tempo once.  She can see the torn fabric of her jeans where dirt and blood mingle on her knee every time her right leg pumps into view.  Her ankle throbs in beat to her pounding steps, swollen flesh pushing against the tight confines of her boot.  But there is no time for pain, so instead she focuses on the way her lab coat creates a soft swish of white with every step.

She stumbles again on some unseen thing, but Reynolds’ grip on her sleeve simply tightens vice-like around her wrist, pulling her forward.

She thinks they must have been running for miles already, but knows it has been closer to minutes.  She’s still counting in her head, watching the steady tick, tick, tick of the countdown in her mind’s eye.

She wants to ask how far they have to go to be clear of the blast range, but she doesn’t have any breath to spare.  Besides, it’s a bit of a moot point.  When the numbers in her head finally wind down, she’ll have her answer, one way or another.

Her mental counter has about thirty seconds left when the blast finally races to catch up with them, slapping against their backs like a heavy, dry wind.  It brings with it the scent of scorched earth and heated metal.

Even knowing it was coming, Sam can’t quite wrap her mind around the destruction. 

 _It’s all gone._

Their steps falter, but only for a moment to regain equilibrium and then Reynolds is dragging her forward again, his grip strong enough to leave marks on her skin.

Bereft of counting and left with rising pain in her exhausted body, her mind latches on to memories on repeat, like broken old home movies.

 _Reynolds bursts into the lab, striding over to Sam and speaking quietly when he gets to her side.  “There’s a Goa’uld mother ship in orbit and they’ve blocked the gate with an incoming wormhole.”_

 _Drills, Sam thinks.  There had been drills, she’s sure of it.  Practice runs of what to do in this situation.  But her mind is completely blank because she can hear the whine of gliders overhead, the thump and rattle of weapons’ fire in the distance.  “What do we do?”_

 _“We have at least another thirty minutes until we can gate out,” he says.  “It’s too long.”_

She’d watched him evacuate the scientists.  Watched him set the self-destruct.  Watched him prepare to destroy everything she worked for, the culmination of her career.  The discoveries she gave up _everything_ to achieve.  
 _  
“You, too, Sam,” he says. “Leave everything and go.”_

She remembers ignoring the demand, instead opening the vault with trembling fingers, staring at the schematics on delicate pieces of paper, the various unknown objects she would never get the chance to explain.  And in front, in a thin black case, sat a syringe.  Julia’s breakthrough.

 _“You sure you don’t want to give the report yourself?” Julia asks, her hands running down the front of her suit, an unconscious gesture born of nerves._

 _She’s tempted, but this is Julia’s breakthrough, Julia’s glory, so Sam just smiles.  “See you in a few days,” she says, watching the scientists disappear into the wormhole._

The five scientists now back at the SGC is a small blessing.  Five less lives to worry about.  Five less people to watch their work incinerated into ashes.  
 _  
Reynolds is shaking her, his fingers digging into her arms.  “Sam,” he snaps.  “We can’t let the Goa’uld get any of this.”_

Reynolds was going to destroy everything.  Sam had stood in front of the open vault, knowing his reasoning, understanding the principle.

But Sam didn’t think.  Her fingers moved ahead of her mind, forgetting orders and chains of command, right and wrong.  
 _  
This can’t all have been for nothing._

By the time Reynolds noticed her, grabbing her arm and dragging her out of the doomed building, her actions had already faded into her chaotic mind, like a dream dissolving in the reality of daylight.

Even now as they fight for each step, each meter of distance between them and the enemy behind them, Sam might be convinced she imagined the whole thing if not for the press of plastic against her leg, tucked securely into her thick sock.  
 _  
What have you done?_

Their pace is slowing, Reynolds’ grip losing strength.  They have little hope of catching up to the other personnel who evacuated before them.  Sam wishes them far ahead, uncatchable. 

It’s only when Reynolds abruptly releases his hold on her arm that his vicious, labored breathing penetrates Sam’s spiraling thoughts.  He nearly takes her down with him when he stumbles and she is barely able to keep herself stable enough to control his descent.  She clumsily props him up against the base of a nearby tree.

“Jason?” she asks, panic leaking into her voice when her hand comes into contact with a large wet spot under his arm.  She pulls her hand back and her fingers come away stained red.

He doesn’t answer, his lips pressed tightly together in obvious pain.  He is horribly pale.

Sam rips off her lab coat, pressing it against the flow of blood from Reynolds’ side.  “Why didn’t you say something?” she demands.

He grunts at the pressure, his eyes rolling back slightly, but he still manages to push her away with amazing strength.  “Go!”

“What?” Sam asks as she watches him root around in his vest.  His hand pulls free with a gun and an extra clip and he shoves them both at her.

“Keep moving, Sam,” he says.  “You have to buy yourself enough time for the SGC to send help.”

Sam takes the gun, but before she can even gather enough energy to wrap her mind around leaving him behind, she hears the clank of armor crashing through underbrush.  Automatically she shifts her body in front of the injured Reynolds, lifting the gun to point at the nearest Jaffa.

He’s younger than she expects an alien warrior to be for some reason, intense eyes staring out from under a dark tattoo she recognizes as the same shape as Teal’c’s.  Servants of Apophis.

She should shoot him, but all she can see when she looks at this enemy is Teal’c.  What really separates them?  Fifty years and a skin of lies, nothing more. 

 _“Killing is never easy. It’s not supposed to be.  That doesn’t make you weak.”_

Shooting at an actual person is nothing like she imagined and she hesitates, transfixed by the stare of the Jaffa.  Another hand grabs at Sam from the side and she swivels in panic, a yell squeezing out as her finger contracts on the trigger.  One bullet flies out, slamming home in the thick arm of the Jaffa. 

The Jaffa grunts in pain, but barely takes a step back in response to the wound.  He grabs the gun from her hands before ruthlessly backhanding her.

The force of the blow knocks her to the ground, stumbling across Reynolds’ legs. She can feel Reynolds lifting away from the tree with a growl, but three staff weapons in his face convince him to back down, his hand closing protectively over Sam’s shoulder.

When her head finally clears, tiny floating lights like aimless stars still orbiting her peripheral vision, she looks up to see the Jaffa with the young face open a small weapon with a strange whinging sound.

Her last thought, strangely enough, is for her beautiful album.

There’s nothing left but ashes.


	29. Tourniquet

Jason Reynolds shrugs off the effects of the zat to find himself being dragged through a long, golden hallway.  Two Jaffa grip him under his arms, their silver clad feet stomping annoyingly near his face.  Tucking his head down into his chest, he can just make out another Jaffa behind him carrying Sam over his shoulder.

“Put the woman with the others,” Jason hears a deep voice order.

The Jaffa behind him veers off to the right and in the distance Jason can hear the murmur of familiar voices and the thud of a body hitting the floor.

They finally reach a destination of sorts, the Jaffa dumping Jason with no undue kindness.  He mentally takes tally of his body, calculating the probability of taking the Jaffa by surprise, but he’s barely worked up any tension in his body when a staff weapon lowers to his face, tapping his cheek.

“You may cease feigning unconsciousness now, human.”

Jason sighs and rolls over just enough to get a look at his captor.  The gold emblem on the man’s forehead designates him a First Prime.  Like most with that title, he is thickset, apparently made of muscle and has dark, glacial eyes unversed in compassion.

“I am Sek, First Prime to the God Apophis.”

Jason files the information away, but refrains from commenting on Apophis’ dubious status as a god.

Apparently realizing that Jason is not going to play along, Sek steps forward and pushes him onto his back with his ironclad foot.  Squinting down at his uniform, Sek reads out “Reynolds” as if a foreign word tripping uncomfortably off his tongue.  His eyes dart to Jason’s shoulder.  “Colonel.”

Jason neither confirms nor denies the information and Sek not so subtly increases the pressure his foot is exerting on his chest.  Jason simply stares back, refusing to let even a grunt of pain escape in the face of such a blatant intimidation tactic.

Sek backs away, summoning his men with a curt jut of his chin.  Two Jaffa cross over to Jason, grabbing him by the wrists, wrenching him to standing before lifting him into manacles on the back wall.

Jason fights the wave of dizziness brought on by such rough treatment of his already painful wound.  When the two Jaffa finally release him, he desperately reaches for the ground with his toes, for some small purchase that might relieve the tearing agony in his side, but the Jaffa have calculated wisely, creating the perfect unbridgeable distance between foot and floor.  The struggle with gravity is brief and Jason succumbs to the inevitable pull, letting arms and shoulders fall slack, placing even greater strain on the wound.

His vision blackens around the edges, pinpricks of light invading his sight.

Sek’s voice begins to rumble in the distance, but Jason can’t distinguish the words.  He doesn’t need to hear them to know what they are.

It would be so easy to just give them his iris code.  By now the SGC must know something has happened.  Invalidating their codes will be one of the first things they do, making the information useless.  An easy way to buy a moment’s relief.

Jason keeps his mouth shut though, teeth clenching on the flesh of his inner cheek.  He knows too well the slippery slope.  One word spoken and millions more may follow.

Sek moves closer, his face swimming in to view.  “You humans are weak.  It’s only a matter of time until your loss of blood becomes fatal.”

Still Jason doesn’t speak.  He just watches the drip of blood falling from the toe of his boot.

“Nothing to say?” Sek repeats, placing one hand on Jason’s shoulder and pushing down.

Jason grunts under the increased pressure, feeling skin ripping, pulling away.  Nausea rolls over him, but he determinedly pushes it back down, focusing on counting each drop of his blood as it falls. 

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

“Pity,” Sek says, moving back away.  “In the meantime, we should probably do something about your wound.”

The nearest Jaffa raises his staff weapon, opening it with a hiss.  Jason braces himself for the blow, but the warrior simply opens and closes the weapon over and over again, the crackle of electricity flashing in the small dark space.  Each click is a like a blow to the head, a water drop impacting his forehead with no perceivable pattern.  Just when Jason is sure he’s going to lose it, the Jaffa snaps the head of the weapon closed one last time and lifts it to press into his wound.

Jason can’t hold back the guttural yell that escapes his throat as the searing hot metal presses into his side.  The sickening stench of burning flesh attacks his senses as blackness grabs for him and he gratefully sinks into oblivion.

 _Colonel Jason Reynolds, United States Air Force.  62-823-9183-436_

He’s repeated that phrase in his mind so many times that the tumble of syllables and numbers cease to mean anything at all.  It’s a pattern though, something to focus on other than the feel of finger bones snapping under pressure, fists thudding against flesh.

Sek starts to get creative after a while and Jason can’t be sure if he’s really enjoying himself or just using him as a teaching case for the other warriors.  How to Break a Tau’ri’s Spirit 101.

Jason hasn’t seen Sam once since he was brought here.  He mostly hopes that Sek’s steadfast attention to his own interrogation means she has been left alone.  In the quiet between sessions, though, his mind starts whispering insidious ideas of what might be happening to the sixty people under his command.

Some are dead, he knows, having seen them fall himself.  Some may be somewhere on this ship, enjoying the same hospitality Jason is.  Still more, he hopes, disappeared into the surrounding land of the Beta Site, holding on long enough to make it back to the SGC.

He runs the probabilities of a recovery team being sent to retrieve two personnel off a Goa’uld mother ship.

He knows he will probably die here.

He wonders, not for the first time, if Sam really knew what she signed on for when she took this job.  It’s right about this point in the endless cycle of his thoughts that he starts to go a little crazy.

 _Colonel Jason Reynolds, United States Air Force.  62-823-9183-436_

It’s not much, just a string of letters and numbers, but it’s _him_ and it helps keep his tongue still when Sek comes back around with the same damn questions.  It helps him ignore the five million details that if executed slightly different might have avoided this situation all together.

After the fourth or fifth session, Jason has lost all sense of time, but he thinks Sek may have finally gotten the message that he’s not going to give them a single iota of information.   Instead of releasing him from the shackles as they usually do, they leave him hanging.  Jason doesn’t have long to wonder what new tactic they may be trying. 

“Colonel Reynolds,” Sek says, a pompous smile on his face.  “Since you have proven to be less than helpful, we thought you might enjoy a cell mate.”

Behind him, two Jaffa drag Sam into the cell, pushing her roughly forward when her painful gait proves too slow for them.  She lands on the floor with a hard crack, her bad leg crumpling under the unexpected weight.  The parts of her face that aren’t black and purple cast green and Jason knows that if her ankle wasn’t broken before, it certainly is now.

Sek seems unconcerned of his prisoner’s discomfort.  “We are hoping she will be more forthcoming.”

“She doesn’t know anything,” Jason automatically says, breaking his days-long silence without hesitation.  “She’s just some low level assistant.  Washes equipment and gets people coffee.”

“Not according to your Dr. Stevens,” Sek replies, a flash of jubilation visible in his dark eyes.  “According to him, she is the greatest mind among you.” 

Dr. Stevens?  Crap, that means they weren’t the only people captured.

“Then he lied to you,” Reynolds improvises.  He doubts Dr. Stevens volunteered anything of his own free will, but doesn’t really want to try and imagine what form of intimidation the scientists may have been under.

Sek ignores Jason’s remark and claps his hands.  One of the Jaffa reappears with a wicked stick that crackles with electricity between three sharp ends.  Jason has only read about such devices in reports.  The descriptions don’t quite do the terrifying contraption justice. 

Sam retreats further into the corner of the cell as the Jaffa advance on her.

“My Lord Apophis wishes to know what you were doing on a planet so far from Earth, Dr. Carter.”

Jason pulls against his restraints, rattling them to return Sek’s attention to him and away from Sam as long as possible.  “I told you she doesn’t know anything.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for that,” Sek replies, motioning the Jaffa toward Sam.  “Unless, perhaps, you are feeling more talkative?”

Jason looks desperately between Sam and Sek, but when he makes no move to say anything, the First Prime nods his head and the Jaffa presses the stick into Sam’s side.

Her screams echo against the hard cell walls, so much more painful to him than any time with Jaffa fists.  He wants to squeeze his eyes shut against the sight of Sam’s agony, the tears pouring over her cheeks, but at the very least he owes it to her to watch.

He never looks away.

Considering her lack of military training, she lasts hours longer than he expects.  He wants to pray for her to just give in, but he’s one of the few to know exactly what’s she’s been working on.  He knows that locked inside that genius brain of hers are their best hopes for beating the Goa’uld.

By the middle of the fourth round, she begins sobbing, begging for them to stop.  Jason listens to her whisper her iris code like a confession.  She tells Sek about her position in the SGC, the car she drives, the name of her third grade teacher as far as he can tell.  She pours out everything.  Naquadah reactors, the creation of alloys of trinium, the edible plant on P9T-476 that seems drought resistant.

Jason drops his head as he listens to the litany, hoping that Sek will be appeased with this mostly harmless information, but predictably he seems less than enthralled. 

“I tire of this.  Kill the man.”

Jason’s head snaps up as the Jaffa raise their staff weapons.

“No, wait!” Sam cries.  “I’ll tell you anything!”

Sek raises a hand to stop the Jaffa and turns to her.  Jason can see that she’s considering it, giving away their greatest secrets just to save him.  “Sam, don’t-,” he begins to say, getting a fist across his face for his trouble.

Sam hesitates and Sek turns back to the door, but he doesn’t make it far before her face crumples and she whispers, “I know a way to circumvent the iris defense.”

Jason bites back a curse.  Of all the things she could have given away, this isn’t one he even considered.

Sek misses a step, pausing momentarily before continuing on his way out of the cell. 

“Bring her to our lord Apophis,” he calls over his shoulder.  “She may prove interesting.”

“And the man?” the Jaffa asks.

“For now, he lives.”

The staff weapons snap back shut and they drag Sam to her feet, carrying most of her weight between them.  Right before the door slams shut she swings her head back around to meet his eyes.

She has the look of someone about to descend into the bowels of hell and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it. 

 _Colonel Jason Reynolds, United States Air Force.  62-823-9183-436_

It doesn’t help.


	30. Countdown

**10…**

 _Beware the destroyers.  They come from 3, 32, 16, 10, 12…_

Jack’s finger fiddles with the sight on his P-90 as the chevrons engage one at a time.  He may be imaging it, but the gate seems to be dialing even slower than usual, as if reluctant to connect to the mystery address.

That stupidly fanciful notion is just another sign of Jack’s discomfort.  It’s not that he regrets volunteering.  He would never leave something this important to someone else.  He can’t imagine what it must be like to be Hammond, who has no choice but to sit and wait.  Jack understands the burden of command, but at least he gets to put his life on the line with his subordinates.

Maybe it’s all the waiting that’s eating at Jack, knowing he’s about to do something risky and having the curse of enough time to think about it first.  Or more likely it’s the letter he’d tried to write, just in case.   But in his line of work, ‘just in case’ is the kind of thinking that gets people killed.  There’s no 'better safe than sorry', just survival as the _only_ option.

The gate shoves the last chevron into place and there is a hesitation as everything comes to a complete stop, the internal mysteries of the Stargate draining power and ripping apart the delicate barriers of subspace to allow them room to slip through.  When the flush of light provides them with proof of the viability of SG-1’s newest crazy plan, Jack drops his hands to his side, turning to Hammond.

Hammond looks torn between his hope for a successful mission and wariness at what it might cost them. 

“Geronimo,” Jack says with the most arrogant grin he can muster.  He pulls on his black knit cap and heads up the ramp, knowing the others are right behind.

Just before they reach the horizon Hammond calls out.  “Godspeed, SG-1.”

Jack’s pretty sure they’re going to need it.  
 **  
9…**

Jack’s eyes have barely adjusted to the darkness left in the wake of the disengaging wormhole when the whole room seems to shift, a strange surge that makes his stomach lurch off kilter.

“What the hell was that?”

“Earthquake?” Daniel offers.  From next him, Lorne looks skeptical, but alert, his eyes taking in the whole room.

“I am afraid not, Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c intones, his palm pressed to one of the gilded walls.  “That was the sensation experienced when a Goa’uld mother ship enters hyperspace.”

It takes a beat for that to sink in.

“Son of a bitch,” Jack swears.

He’s accepted that this is going to be a suicide mission, but gating onto a ship full of Jaffa is just plain insanity.

 **8...**

“Conceal yourselves.”

Teal’c’s terse command precedes the grinding sound of a large door lifting open by mere moments.  Jack lingers long enough to see Lorne pull Daniel behind a large crate before he finds cover for himself.

From between two crates, Jack can just make out four Jaffa with a regal figure gliding in slightly behind them.  Judging from the garish gold of his cloak, he’s probably a Goa’uld.  Just what they need on this mission.

The sound of large objects being moved around, scraping across the floor breaks the silence of the room.  Jack can only hope the snake is looking for his favorite silk shirt and won’t linger too long.  Moments later, though, an enormous grey ball floats into place at the center of the Stargate.

This is technology Jack has never seen before, but he doesn’t have time to guess what it might be, because energy flows from the gate and a face emerges from the grey mist inside the ball.

Apophis.

The Jaffa kneel before the giant floating head, while the other Goa’uld bows lowly.

Apophis’ voice fills the chamber as if amplified.  “I have ground our enemies under my heel, my son, rising to the ascendant status destined to our line: to be above all other gods.  Only one small detail remains, those who dared rise up against Ra.  Together we will wipe out that scourge and their cause.  I will rejoin you as we come out of the shadows, Klorel.”

“Kel, Apophis,” the other Goa’uld, Klorel, says, again bowing low to the ground. “Your will be done, Father.”

Apophis nods his head regally before his visage disappears. 

Klorel turns, his contingent of Jaffa following closely behind.  It’s only now that Jack gets a clear look at the Goa’uld’s face.

Jack drops to the floor, pressing his back to the crate as the doors loudly shut.  Skaara.  The boy who had befriended Jack and dared rise up against what he spent his whole life believing to be a god.  The boy who now spoke with the voice of a Goa’uld and called Apophis father.

“Earth,” Lorne whispers as the others appear at Jack’s side.  “They mean to wipe out Earth?”

Jack avoids the knowing gaze of Daniel and fingers the C-4 in his vest.  “We have to make sure this boat never gets there.”

“What about the other ship?” Daniel asks.

Jack pushes to his feet and tries to tell himself it doesn’t matter who he remembers when he looks at Klorel.  A Goa’uld is a Goa’uld. 

“One crisis at a time, Daniel.”

 **7...**

It takes hours of skulking and an insane amount of luck, but they manage to rig large parts of the ship with C-4, hoping that they have chosen wisely enough to bank on secondary explosions to finish off the rest of the ship.  It’s a blessing that they have had so few direct run-ins with the Goa’uld because they seem strangely unable to detect their ‘primitive’ munitions.  Even if a Jaffa did happen upon one of them, they might not even know what they were looking at.

Jack decides it’s time to retreat back to the cargo bay to review their next move when their luck runs out.

The unmistakable pounding of Jaffa feet give them more than enough time to melt into the darkened alcoves that helpfully line all of the wide, ornate hallways.  From the shadows, Jack has a clear view of the same four Jaffa from before with their Goa’uld charge striding ahead of them.

It seems to Jack that the kid hasn’t aged a day and he sort of loses it to see him walking with the sinuous self-assuredness of a snake.

“Skaara!”

Jack is jumping out and yelling before the smart part of his brain can tell him how absolutely stupid he’s being.

Klorel, for his part, doesn’t even betray surprise, as if crazy Tau’ri jump out of the walls at him all the time.  He walks towards Jack and for the tiniest moment he thinks he see a flash of recognition there, but then the Goa’uld’s eyes narrow, his lips twisting in feral satisfaction as he raises his hand.  Even knowing what is coming, Jack can’t brace himself for the intense pulse of agony the hand device produces.

Jack’s knees bang into the hard ground, his watering eyes clouding everything around him.  Vaguely over the tension threatening to crush his skull, Jack hears weapon’s fire, a close blast knocking Jack away from Klorel, his back slamming hard into the floor.

Lorne is pulling Jack to his feet, swearing under his breath and half dragging him down the hall.  Jack’s vision clears enough for him to see Skaara lying on the floor, eyes staring, chest charred and bloody.

Jack lets the urgency of his teammates drive him around the corner and out of sight, but they manage only a few steps before a small silver ball follows them.

Teal’c bellows something, but the snap of the ball opening with painful light and an eardrum-popping screech overwrites his words.

Jack only has time to be thankful they’d put the C-4 on timers before his senses are completely overwhelmed.

 **6...**

No one could accuse the Goa’uld of having shabby prison cells.  When Jack finally regains his sight, he notices that the same glitteringly bright walls that grace the rest of the ship are in here too.  Of course, at the moment, it only intensifies the throbbing in his skull.

Jack struggles to his feet, locating the other members of this team.  Teal’c stands by the entrance, legs braced wide, arms crossed, face unreadable as always and Jack wonders what might be going through his head, being captive of the Goa’uld.  Being back on this ship, only on the wrong side of the shield. 

A low curse brings Jack’s attention to Lorne, who is lying under the bench along the back of the cell, his fingers creeping searchingly along the wall.  Always an optimist, that Lorne.  Convinced the major will let him know if he actually finds anything, Jack turns his attention to the last member of his team.  Daniel is unusually quiet at this point, knees pulled into his chest and head tipped back in defeat.

Jack has to admit that trying to snatch Klorel hadn’t been the brightest idea.  He just so badly wanted to believe that something of Skaara might still be there behind that gaudy, arrogant surface.  Five endless years Skaara has been prisoner to the Goa’uld.  Jack can only imagine what he’s seen and done in those years.  Maybe it’s too much to ever come back from.

Maybe Daniel is beginning to realize that too.

 **5…**

Jack’s already abused head does not appreciate the metal-clad forearm slamming into his nose, but through his watering eyes he can just make out the familiar form of Master Bra’tac attached to the offending appendage.  Finally, something is going their way, aching nose aside.

“Ha’shak!” Bra’tac bellows, his face contorted in anger.

Jack’s pretty sure he’s never been happier to be called an asshole in his entire life.

“I have been ordered by Apophis to execute you,” Bra’tac continues, speaking only to Teal’c as is his habit.

Any joy at seeing Bra’tac disappears with that statement.  He sounds way too happy about it.

“Anyway we could talk you out of that?” Jack asks, still holding his protesting nose.

Bra’tac takes an uncomfortably long time to survey each of them.  “If we are to save your world, we have very little time.”  He gestures to the two Jaffa behind him and they step forward with SG-1’s confiscated weapons.  “You will need these.”

Jack gratefully takes his P-90 and glances at his watch.  They have less than an hour left before the C-4 goes off.  “How long until we reach Earth?” Jack asks, sticking extra ammo in his vest.

“We are already there.”

So much for things going their way.

 **4...**

“Apophis has arrived,” Bra’tac explains as they skulk out into the hallways, “but he delays the attack until Klorel rises from the sarcophagus.”

“You put him in that thing?” Jack exclaims, torn between relief at Skaara’s survival and horror that they would have to deal with Klorel again.

“I had no choice, human.  Your foolishness has tied my hands,” Bra’tac snaps, gesturing for them to take a left turn.  “It was all I could do to delay the attack.”

Jack really wishes the Jaffa Master would stop calling him ‘human’.  It’s annoying.  He glances at his watch again.  “Well, we have forty minutes left on the timers.  When this ship blows, will it take out Apophis’ as well?”

“It will not,” Bra’tac says.

This is turning out to be a really bad day, all things considered.  Jack glances at his team, registering the squinty look to Lorne’s face that means the major is trying to work something out.

“If we knock out the shields on Apophis’ ship,” Lorne says, “would that make a difference?”

Bra’tac looks thoughtful, sharing a look with Teal’c.  “It is worth the attempt.”

“We can utilize the rings,” Teal’c says.

“Yes,” Bra’tac agrees, “but first we must move the ships closer.  We must do that on the pel’tac.”

Of course they do.  
 **  
3…**

“Daniel, watch our backs,” Jack orders as they stand outside the pel’tac, preparing to charge the room.  The last thing they need is more Jaffa hitting them from behind.

Daniel nods, hunching down behind a pillar with his gun poised and ready. 

On the pel’tac, they manage to catch the ten Jaffa off-guard, none of them expecting Bra’tac to turn his weapon on them.  Once the final Jaffa has been neutralized, Bra’tac moves straight to the controls, but Jack’s attention is caught by the view.  Right outside the window the delicate blue sphere that is Earth spins vulnerably under the imposing mass of two Goa’uld mother ships.  This is the nightmare they have feared for five years.

“Fifteen minutes,” Jack says, forcibly tearing his eyes from Earth.

Back out in the hallway, it sounds like the Calvary has arrived.

“Daniel,” Jack snaps, darting back out.

 **2…**

It’s a fatal wound.  Even in the heat of battle, Jack can see that.

There is so much damn noise everywhere, the smell of burnt cloth and flesh, the insistent pressure of the final countdown, but through it all, Daniel’s voice rings clear, one bloody hand pushing against Jack’s chest.

“I’m dead anyway.  Just get out of here!”  
   
Jack leans out around Daniel and takes down two more Jaffa at the end of the corridor.  “I am _not_ leaving you here, Daniel.”

“Get out of here!  You’re just going to blow up with the other ship anyway!  What difference does it make?  Go.  Just go!  I’ll stay and watch your back.”

Jack goes.  But only because he knows it doesn’t really matter where they die anymore, as long as they take these damn ships down with them.

 **1…**

They are captured only minutes after ringing over to Apophis’ ship, which isn’t so much surprising as it is inconvenient.  This time, their captors don’t throw them in cells, but bring them straight to Apophis himself.

The room is filled with Jaffa, killing any last tiny hope of taking out Apophis and ending this whole damn thing once and for all.  The four of them are forced to their knees, Apophis raging about the betrayal of Bra’tac, his beloved son’s First Prime.

It’s somewhere in the middle of this rant that Jack first notices they are not the only prisoners in the room.

From behind a line of Jaffa, he can just make out the form of a person lying curled up in the corner.  He watches the body slowly straighten, long, tangled hair falling forward to cover the figure’s face.  One pale hand presses flat against the hard floor and Jack fights a wave of disorientation as if the ship beneath him has just jumped back into hyperspace.

Too familiar.  Too goddamned familiar, but he absolutely _refuses_ to believe what he’s seeing.

Then she lifts her head, matted hair falling back from her face and Jack feels every last thread still holding him together snap.

Sam.

 _Time’s up._


	31. Radium Eyes

_Shit, shit, shit_ , is all Jack can think as he watches the rest of the matted hair fall back from Sam’s face.  Her skin is one giant mass of bruising and she holds herself as if suffering from multiple broken bones.  Jack is filled with the undeniable urge to rip Apophis’s head from his gaudily clad shoulders.  What the hell is she even doing here?

She meets his eyes across the room, a hazy mix of surprise and confusion on her face like it’s taking her a really long time to reconcile what she is seeing.  Then her mouth drops open, the raw relief in her eyes almost more than Jack can handle.  They stare at each other as the Goa’uld continues to drone and Jack finds he can’t look away even to save her.  He knows he is giving far too much away.

Apophis isn’t so self-absorbed not to notice.  “How fitting to have a little reunion at this moment,” Apophis says with a sick smile, his rage finally boiling down into haughty malice. “We can all watch your planet burn together.”

Apophis nods to his First Prime to start the attack, but right before he can comply the C-4 countdown finally ticks down, Klorel’s ship shattering in a blinding ball of light.  Even Apophis shrinks back from the glare as the ship teeters in the concussive wake of the explosion.

Jack doesn’t allow a single moment to think of Daniel or Skaara, instead pushing to his feet in the confusion, throwing himself at the nearest guard.  The little rebellion doesn’t last long, however, seeing as they are outnumbered by quite a bit.  But it does pull the Jaffa behind Apophis across the room to help subdue them, offering Jack a much clearer view of Sam, who has pushed into a half crouch, her eyes surveying her surroundings as if seeing them for the first time.

“My son!” Apophis roars as the guards force them back to their knees.  He whirls around, pointing a finger at Jack.  “I will have the pleasure of taking your life myself!”

Apophis snatches a staff weapon from his First Prime.  Jack can already sense the rest of his team tensing for action when movement comes from the most unexpected quarter.  With a look of grim determination, Sam pushes unsteadily to her feet and covers the distance to Apophis in three quick, faltering steps.

Jack barely registers the glint of a syringe in her hand before she jams it into the back of Apophis’s neck, sliding the plunger home.

The Goa’uld spins around at the unexpected attack, swinging his staff weapon into Sam in his haste.  She slams back into a console and slides limply to the floor.  An unnatural silence fills the room, everyone staring at Apophis, waiting for something to happen, any reaction at all to explain what they just witnessed.

Apophis drops the staff weapon and rips the syringe out of his neck with a sneer.   He tosses the object aside contemptuously and looks down at Sam.  “What did you hope to accomplish, human?  I am a _god_ , your petty tricks cannot harm me.”

Sam remains mute, her eyes riveted to the Goa’uld, but she’s biting her lower lip in a way Jack has come to associate with Sam on the edge of a major breakthrough.

“Just as you cannot stop me from eradicating your planet,” Apophis continues, striding across the room. 

Jack has just convinced himself that Sam’s little attack had been nothing more than a flashy distraction when Apophis inexplicably stumbles mid-step.  The First Prime rushes forward, grabbing Apophis’s arm to offer support, but the Goa’uld shrugs him off.  Jack is fascinated by the sheen of sweat visible on Apophis’s increasingly pale face. 

Apophis tries another step only to stumble again, his eyes glowing weakly.  Surprise crosses his face as he reaches out for the control panel to steady himself.  “What...what have you done?”

Sam gingerly lifts her head, obviously biting back pain.  “Science experiment,” she says, her voice not completely steady.  “How long exactly does it take for a god to die?”

There is unmistakable panic in Apophis’s eyes as he roars, raising his hand device to Sam’s chest.  Jack begins to push to his feet as Sam uselessly tries to back away, but the expected blow never comes.

“What?” Apophis asks, fear beginning to leak into his voice as he tries over and over again to make the device fire.  He takes a few awkward steps towards Sam, eventually falling to his knees mere feet from her.  They stare at each other as all the energy seems to drain away from his body. 

“You wanted to know what I was working on,” Sam says.  “Now you know.”

Apophis’s mouth opens soundlessly as the light fades from his eyes.  Before their very eyes he begins to age, skin sinking in, hair losing pigment until there is nothing left but the mummified shell of a man curled up on the floor.  He takes a last shuddering breath, his eyes wildly looking around the room.

When the last bit of life finally leeches away from the corpse that had once been Apophis, Sam rests back against the consol, her hands covering her face.

It takes Jack a moment to realize that he is standing side by side with a Jaffa, both of them staring in complete amazement.  On the other side of the room, the First Prime is the first to recover, his eyes latched on Sam.  “What have you done?” he yells, reaching for his master’s dropped staff weapon.

Jack doesn’t think, he sees the First Prime advancing on Sam and his instincts take over.  He has the two Jaffa next to him stumbling backwards, one of their weapons in his hands before his brain is even aware of the command.  Dropping to one knee, Jack fires twice in quick succession, both blasts impacting the First Prime squarely in the chest.

Sam lets out a strangled sound as the body impacts the floor, both of her hands clamped over her mouth.

Jack is just about to turn his weapon on the next Jaffa when Bra’tac darts out into the middle of the room, arms held wide. 

“Brothers!  You have finally seen for yourselves that the whispers are true.”  He gestures towards Apophis’s lifeless body.  “This is no god, but merely a parasite hiding in a man’s body.  Powerful, yes, but mortal as all other beings.”

The Jaffa look uncertain, some half raising their weapons, others looking searchingly at their neighbors.  Jack takes advantage of the moment to circle around and stand between the majority of the Jaffa and Sam.  Despite a significant glare from Bra’tac, he refuses to lower his weapon.  Jack might be willing to let Bra’tac try to talk them out of this, but there is no way he is giving up plan B, even though it mostly consists of being completely out manned and out gunned.

“You speak blasphemy,” one of the bolder Jaffa eventually says, stepping in front of the rest.  “We know of your crimes against the Gods, _shol’va_.”

“If my desire for freedom for all Jaffa makes me a traitor, then so be it,” Teal’c says, smoothly stepping forward to stand by Bra’tac.

“You are a warrior without honor,” the Jaffa spats. “Your words mean nothing.”

“But what of the woman?” another voice in the back questions.  A buzz passes through the group, heads nodding in agreement. 

“What of her?” the loudmouth Jaffa scoffs, taking a step in Sam’s direction.  “She will be the first to pay for her crimes against the gods.”

“You’re gonna find that difficult to do when you’re dead,” Jack grinds out, his confiscated staff weapon trained on the Jaffa.

Apparently deciding to call Jack’s bluff, the Jaffa lunges forward, but before Jack can fire, the blue crackle of a zat blast envelopes the warrior from behind.  Momentum carries the now unconscious Jaffa to the ground right at Jack’s feet.

“Enough blood has been spilled in the name of petty tyrants,” says a young, dark haired Jaffa as he lowers his zat.  “Today I choose freedom.”

“Your words are wise, Rak’nor,” Teal’c says with a nod. 

Jack is a bit startled to hear Teal’c call the Jaffa by name; it’s hard to remember sometimes that Teal’c had once led all these men.  Teal’c steps towards Rak’nor, holding out his hands.  The young Jaffa hands over his staff weapon and zat.

“It is time to lay down weapons carried in the name of false gods,” Rak’nor says.

The remaining Jaffa look uncertainly between Apophis and Rak’nor until one warrior steps forward and then another, their loyalty to their dead god breaking like a dam.  One by one, they follow Rak’nor’s example, handing their weapons to Bra’tac and Teal’c.  Only when the last Jaffa voluntarily complies does Jack finally lower his weapon and let himself move to Sam’s side.

She’s speaking rapidly before he can even lift her to a sitting position.  “Reynolds, he’s three levels down in a cell.  At least I think it’s three levels.  You have to get him out.  He’s going to need medical care, and eight or so more civilians in a brig much lower down.  I can’t remember exactly-.”

“Sam,” Jack tries to interrupt.

“And the host,” she says as if he hadn’t spoken.  “That wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to…but…it was just an experiment.  I didn’t know-.”

“Sam,” Jack says more loudly, hands insistent on her shoulders.  “It’s okay.”

She looks up, finally focusing on him as her whole body begins to tremble.  “Jack.”

He gingerly touches her face.  “Yeah,” he confirms.

She lunges forward unexpectedly, grabbing for his shoulders, burying her face in the hollow of his neck as if she’s trying to climb inside him.  She’s whispering something over and over again and it takes him a while to realize she is saying, “Thank you.”

Jack wraps his arms around her as tightly as he dares, pulling her into his chest. 

Lorne crouches down next to them, his eyes lingering on each bruise visible on Sam’s skin.  “We need to get the injured medical attention,” he says.

“There is likely a _tel’tak_ in one of the bays,” Teal’c offers.

“First we need to contact the SGC,” Jack says.

They brainstorm for a while, working out all the particulars of suddenly finding themselves in control of a Goa’uld mothership.  Across the room, Bra’tac and his Jaffa from Klorel’s ship speak quietly to Rak’nor and the others.  Even as one part of Jack’s brain focuses on these particulars, the importance of treading carefully in the next few hours, the rest of him is lost in the feel of Sam’s fingers twisted up in his shirt, the heavy weight of her labored breathing against his neck.

They have just decided on a course of action when Sam speaks.

“Is he dead?” Sam asks softly.

Lorne stops talking mid-sentence, looking down at Sam.  Jack assumes she means Apophis, but she is staring hard at the First Prime’s body.  Jack feels his gut twist painfully at the terror in her eyes.

“Sek,” she reiterates, her voice little more than a croak.  “Is he dead?”

“Yes,” Jack says.

Sam nods and turns her face into Jack’s chest, but he can still feel her trembling. 

“Lorne,” Jack barks a little more harshly than he intends.  “Get an open line to the SGC.”

Lorne doesn’t look affronted, rather annoyingly sympathetic.  He nods his head and moves off to the main controls.

“What do you intend to do with the Jaffa?” Teal’c asks, something unreadable in his eyes.

Jack looks around at the remaining Jaffa being loosely guarded by Bra’tac’s men.  Most of them are staring in complete awe either at Apophis’s desiccated body or Sam, the seemingly insignificant Tau’ri woman who killed him.  Jack feels his arms tighten around her as if to protect her from their gaze.

None of them are completely innocent of what has been done to Sam and Jack struggles against the overwhelming desire for revenge.  Looking up at Teal’c, he knows Teal’c understands this.  Unfortunately there is something much larger at stake, and if anything can finish off the Goa’uld once and for all, it’s the idea of a Jaffa rebellion.

Jack takes a deep breath and firmly shoves down the rage crawling up his throat.  “I think we should give any Jaffa willing to lay down his arms free passage home through the gate,” Jack decides.

Teal’c nods his approval.  “They will undoubtedly spread the tale of what they have witnessed here today,” he says, another gentle reminder that this mercy is in the best interest of all.

“Colonel,” Lorne says.  “General Hammond has given permission to land a _tel’tak_ on the airstrip.  They will have medical teams standing by.”

“Okay.  We need to clear a path to the _tel’tak_ and get the other prisoners out of the lower levels.”  Jack moves to push to his feet, but Sam’s fingers dig into his shirt, refusing to let go.

“Sam,” Jack says, kneeling back down by her, his hands covering hers.  “I have to get the rest of our people out.”

“Of course,” Sam replies, but her hands don’t release their death grip.

Jack glances up at Lorne.  “Evan is going to stay with you.”  Lorne squats down next to Sam, bringing his face into her line of sight.

“Hey, Sam,” Lorne says gently.  “Can I take a look at you and see what we can do to make you feel better?”  He holds out a water bottle and Sam looks back and forth between Lorne and Jack.

Jack nods encouragingly at her, pulling her fingers free as they loosen on his shirt.  Jack isn’t too thrilled about letting her out of his sight either, but he knows he has to.  Some days it just sucks to be in command. 

“I’ll come right back,” Jack says. “I promise.”

“Of course,” she says again, nodding her head.  Looking over at Lorne, she finally reaches out to take the water bottle. 

Jack stands and forces himself to join Teal’c, grabbing a staff weapon and a zat from the pile.  “Let’s get this done,” he says.

Despite Jack’s best intentions, it takes a few hours to locate the prisoners and send the Jaffa through Apophis’s personal Stargate.  It’s another frightening reminder how powerful Apophis had become, Teal’c saying that he has never personally heard of a ship equipped with a Stargate, let alone two in one fleet.  No wonder the Jaffa were so astounded by his sudden downfall from the most unlikely source.

With Teal’c helping get all the injured into the _tel’tac_ , Jack heads back to keep his promise.  Bra’tac is already in the peltac, keeping an eye on the systems.  Lorne is exactly where Jack left him, sitting by the main controls, Sam’s head now resting on his shoulder as he speaks lowly to her.

“…And that is why, to this day, I absolutely refuse to eat Twinkies,” Lorne is in the middle of saying when Jack gets within hearing range.  Jack raises an eyebrow at the major, but doesn’t bother to ask.

“Hey, Sam,” Jack says, crouching down by her.  “How are you doing?”

She gives him a fuzzy smile, but doesn’t answer.

“I gave her some of the good drugs,” Lorne says.

“Probably a good idea.” She has an obvious facial fracture and broken ankle added to the high probability of some cracked ribs from her close encounter with Apophis’ staff weapon.  As if that weren’t enough, there are singe marks on her shirt that Jack really doesn’t like the look of.

“Ready to go for a ride?” Jack asks Sam as he slides his arms under her to pick her up.

Sam nods against his shoulder.

Jack insists on carrying her the entire distance to the _tel’tac_ with Lorne trailing behind.  When they finally enter the ship, instead of placing her in the back with the rest of the Beta Site personnel, he puts her down in the passenger seat up front before taking the pilot’s seat himself.  Teal’c doesn’t even bother arguing about who should fly, probably recognizing all too well the look in Jack’s eye.

Guiding the _tel’tac_ carefully out the bay door, they leave the looming ship behind, the inky black of space filling the windows.  Banking left, Earth slides into view, a swirling mosaic of white, blue and green.  Against all odds it still spins quietly, completely unaware how close it brushed with disaster today.

Jack’s still not even sure how, but they’d saved it.

“It’s beautiful,” Sam says, her voice hoarse with exhaustion.

Jack looks over at her.  Under the bruising and fatigue he still recognizes the glimmer of wonder on her face.  “Yes, it is,” he agrees.

By the time they break atmosphere she’s sound asleep.


	32. Psychosomatic Fugue

_“Her.”_

 _The finger lifts reluctantly, attached to a quivering arm adorned with a fine sheen of terror. The others shift in front of Sam as if to protect her from the damnation that one gesture represents._

 _She never knew, before, that fear has a scent. The crowded cell is filled with it, a pungent musk like a slap to the face._

 _She tries to stand, but her legs refuse to comply._

* * *

The first thing Sam registers is the pain that seems to have taken up permanent residence in her body. She can remember the exact location of each application of the vicious weapon the Jaffa had used on her. It will fade, she’s been reassured. And here, how about some morphine? Neither do much to temper the pain, real or remembered.

The second thing Sam registers is that Jack is sitting in a chair by the side of her bed. His head rests on his fist and from his slow even breaths she thinks he must be asleep. She tries to feel embarrassment for the way she had clung to him, but the only emotion she can muster is almost dizzying gratitude.

 _You’re safe now, Sam. You’re safe._

Part of her still doesn’t believe it.

Jack’s other hand rests on the edge of her bed and she is overwhelmed by the need to feel the solidity of his skin, the surety of his flesh. Her hand lifts to hover over his, but at the last second she rethinks, reminding herself that she gave up the comforts of this man. Before she can pull away, his fingers leap up and grab hers, his eyes sliding open smoothly enough to make her suspect that he’d never really been asleep to begin with.

She lets her hand sink into his, feeling warmth slide up her arm at the contact and tries not to think about how they’ve suddenly switched roles. She wonders if she should smile and make lame jokes, but she doesn’t want to pretend.

“I told them things,” she confesses.

“It’s okay,” he automatically answers.

“Is it?”

“Everyone breaks. That’s the point.”

“Did you?” she asks, her eyes sliding across the phantom streaks that have long since faded from his skin. She figures he’s not hers to lose anymore so she doesn’t have to play by the old convoluted rules.

Jack leans back in his chair, straining the connection between their hands. She digs her fingers in, but he doesn’t seem inclined to leave the room any more than he is to answer her question.

“Reynolds didn’t,” she observes.

“He’s trained to resist,” Jack says and she assumes he is answering for himself as well.

“Yeah. I guess so,” she says with a humorless laugh. “It’s funny that the one thing I can’t forget is that Reynolds let them do that to me. He was _trained_ not to break, and so they broke me instead. And he just hung there and watched, keeping his secrets by letting me spill mine. Do they train you to do that as well?”

She knows she sounds a little hysterical, but she just can’t shake the image of Reynolds placidly watching her scream. Jack’s jaw is now set, his throat tightening in his effort to hide whatever emotions he might be feeling. Anger? Pity? Annoyance? She has no way of knowing.

“Is it strange that I can forgive Dr. Stevens for betraying me? It’s a weakness I understand, but Reynolds... He let them do that to me and I still told them everything just to save his life. I suppose if I was _trained_ I would have just let him die.”

Jack is still sitting motionless as if her words aren’t reaching him.

“Could you have done that?” she asks, her fingers clenching around his.

She waits for Jack to answer, _needs_ the answer. She’s never asked anything of him before, not really, but she pleads with him to give her this one small thing. Some form of understanding that might let her live with it.

“Sam,” he says heavily, running one hand through his hair in obvious agitation, the first visible crack in his façade.

She’s almost convinced he’ll say something else when he abruptly pushes to his feet, squeezing her hand in his before setting it carefully back down on the sheets.

He doesn’t say anything else and she doesn’t push him to.

After everything, he still can’t talk to her.

* * *  
 _  
She screams, sounds tearing out of her throat that she never knew could be produced by a human being. The Jaffa’s face is serene at the other end of her pain, unmoved by her agony, content in his faith. There’s a strange comfort to be found in that terrible tranquility._

* * *

Julia comes to visit once, sitting silently.

There are a lot of things they should be talking about. The world they started building together that is now little more than ashes. The people they have lost. A miracle in the form of a tiny syringe. The fact that everything that happened to Sam could have just as easily happened to Julia if their last conversation had gone a little differently.

Sam feels guilty that she wishes it _had_ been Julia instead. Julia probably suspects that but isn’t enough of a hypocrite to tell her it’s okay. She doesn’t offer empty encouragements for a quick recovery or words of understanding from someone who can’t possibly understand. She just sits, letting the heavy weight of silence speak for them.

Too many things to say and no words skilled enough to express them.

After fifteen minutes, Julia stands up. Just before she disappears around the curtain, she pauses. “The problem with running,” she says, “is knowing when to stop.”

She’s gone before Sam can respond.

* * *

 _It’s the weight of the other gaze that rips against her skin. If only he would look away, even for a moment. But just as he wouldn’t speak in her stead, neither will he comply in this one thing._

 _She’s drowning in his silence._

* * *

Her fingernail is broken.

Daniel, mysteriously back from the dead thanks to a sarcophagus and a well timed trip through Klorel’s Stargate, sits on the foot of Sam’s bed. He’d returned before she even knew she was supposed to be mourning him.

“You should have seen everyone’s faces when they realized we now have a working mother ship in our possession,” Daniel says. “I don’t know who was more excited, Dr. Lee or Colonel Maybourne.”

Sam feels her face curve into the expected smile at the image of Pentagon officials fighting with scientists over tearing the ship to bits just to see how it works. But her attention is still riveted on the frayed edge of her fingernail. She wonders when she had done that. Why are the other nine still perfect little crescents? It seems that with everything that happened, they should look more ragged.

“Janet said she’s ready to let you out of here tomorrow,” Daniel says.

Sam nods. What had she broken that nail on? And how? When she was pulling things out of the safe on the Beta Site? Or had Sek and his Jaffa done it? Maybe she’d torn it pulling the syringe from where it sat hidden under layers of fabric.

Maybe when two intertwined beings lay in front of her, dead by her own hand.

“Have you made an appointment with Dr. MacKenzie yet?” Daniel asks, watching her with eyes that see far too much.

Sam is shaking her head before he finishes the question. She’ll take the pills, do the physical therapy, but she has no intention of talking with a complete stranger about...anything.

“You can’t start working again until he clears you,” Daniel reminds her.

Sam runs her jagged nail down the sheet, feeling it snag and pull against the thin fabric. “It doesn’t matter.”

Maybe it never had.

* * *  
 _  
She becomes convinced over the next relentless series of moments that his gaze is the thing that breaks her._

* * *

Daniel pushes her wheelchair slowly down the hallway and Sam watches the grey walls slide by, wondering if this is the last time she will ever see them. She thinks of the first day she came here, cautiously optimistic with the hum of naquadah under her fingers. She knows now what it feels like to be tossed into the tempestuous belly of a wormhole. The cold metal of guns and the tang of blood are far too recognizable. She’s done the impossible over and over again, but she spends the length of the hall trying to remember the scent of rising bread.

She killed a god.

Everything is just too ridiculous for words and she has to fight back hysterical laughter. Daniel is asking her something but all she can see are the approaching elevator doors. _Faster, faster_ , she thinks, not sure if she is racing towards something or away.

Daniel swings the chair around to pull her into the elevator and there, standing calmly at the end of the hall, is Jack. Arms crossed, face implacable, but he’s there. Staring. She feels tears rising, threatening her resolve at the thought of his steady fingers tightly wrapped around her own.

So much she would like to say, to ask. But all she can do is hold his gaze as the doors slowly slide shut, severing the connection.

“Daniel?” she asks.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you could take me to the airport?”

He pauses, his hand coming down to rest on her shoulder. “Of course.”

* * *

 _I’ll tell you anything._

* * *

Sam shows up on her parents’ doorstep unannounced, unstable on a walking cast and face livid with bruises.

Elizabeth pulls Sam down into a warm hug, exclaiming over her injuries. The arm of her mother’s wheelchair cuts into Sam’s ribs but she doesn’t pull away from the embrace. She inhales deeply, breathing in the familiar mix of her mother’s perfume and the salty Atlantic air, wishing she was ten years old again and absolutely certain that her parents could keep her safe from anything.

From behind Elizabeth, Jacob takes one look at Sam and says, “What the hell have you gotten yourself into now?”

Sam doesn’t bother to reply. There’s no more fight left in her.

* * *

 _Please, God. Just make it stop.  
_


	33. Soldier's Daughter

There’s a restlessness to Sam that Jacob has never seen before.  Sure, their town is little more than a sleepy fishing village where life moves at a slower pace, but there is more than boredom plaguing Sam.  She’s wound so tight it’s almost familiar.

He doesn’t ask.

Four days after she appears back in their life as if from nowhere, he grabs his keys and announces he’s heading out for his weekly visit with his buddies from the local base.  He’s not going to put his entire existence on hold just because Sam decided to let them into her life for once.

Sam is sliding into the passenger seat before Jacob even has the key in the ignition.  

“I’m going to the range before lunch,” he informs her, expecting her to jump back out.

Instead she surprises him again, looking relieved rather than repulsed.   “That’s fine,” she says, hands spread flat on the dash as she stares straight ahead.  “That’s fine.”

Her bruises are tingeing towards yellow around the edges now Jacob notices before shrugging and starting the engine.

She’s quiet on the ride out and he’s relieved.  He seems to remember her being good at small talk.  But maybe that had just been during the Jeff years.  In many ways this new woman is a stranger.  He stretches his mind back, trying to remember her before, as a child, but there’s not much there other than the fleeting feel of her arms, far too small, stretching around to grasp his neck.

He’s not going to apologize for that lack.  Not even to himself.

By the time he pulls into the parking lot Sam is nearly buzzing with suppressed energy, her fingers twitching against the windowsill.

She hobbles inside, matching Jacob’s long, even strides with small hiccupping steps.  Then she’s holding a weapon, only there is none of the revulsion or disinterest he has grown to expect from her.   It should be satisfying to see such obvious competence from her when he spent so much time pushing this on her in her youth.  It’s only when the weapon is in her hand, the tension visibly leaking from her body that Jacob finally realizes teaching her to shoot a gun had never been about the activity itself.  It had been about sharing something with his child.  Something of himself.

He watches her fire with skill and confidence, but then she’s burned through an entire clip and keeps pulling, almost desperately, the trigger clicking sickly after the ammo is gone.

Jacob reaches out for her arm and she starts violently, the gun dropping tip down in front of her.  

Her face is ashen now under the colors.   

“God, Dad,” she says lowly, “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t know...”

He’s not sure what she’s talking about, but it’s only then, holding his shivering child in his arms, that he realizes he never wanted her to know any of this in the first place.  This is the part of his life she was never meant to share.

They don’t return to the range again.

Jacob is there though, back pressed against the hard wood of her bedroom door the next time she wakes screaming, calling for people and things he doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t go inside, but he listens and tries not to call up George Hammond and demand to know what the hell he’s done to his little girl.   He sits until Elizabeth is there, reaching down, her fingers cool on his face.

This part of his life was never meant to be Sam’s.


	34. Lay Down Your Burdens

Jack is shuffling his feet just outside the gate, hands shoved deep in his pockets as if waiting for an invitation he’s not sure is ever coming.  Even from across the spreading distance of the front lawn and her mother’s gauzy curtains, Sam can tell he’s agitated and trying his damnedest not to show it. 

Jacob sits on the porch, staring hard at Jack, not moving to make the man feel any less uncomfortable.

Sam pushes out onto the porch, pausing by her father.

“Want me to get rid of him?” Jacob offers a little too eagerly.

It’s tempting because everything that pushed her to walk away from Jack in the first place is still there, rooting her feet to the wood planks of her parent’s house.  But looking at him standing there makes her skin feel just a little less brittle somehow.

Jack shifts then, as if aware of her presence, his eyes latching onto her.  He carefully looks her up and down, lingering on each injury, even the hidden ones, and she has to wonder if he’s memorized her medical reports.

Leaning over and threading her arms around Jacob’s neck, Sam kisses him softly on the shiny pate that unexpectedly reminds her of forgotten piggy back rides in the summer sun.

“Not this time, Dad,” she says.

And then she’s pulling away and tripping down the steps, the concrete cool and rough under her one bare foot, the surgical boot throwing off her gait.  Evening sunlight is warm and tangible as it slides across Sam’s face and for the first time it doesn’t make her automatically think of fleeing along dried out creek beds.

She reaches to open the gate, but Jack’s hand stops her, covering hers on top of the fence. 

“Reynolds did what he had to,” he says without preamble and Sam’s fingers tighten on the rough wood.  “Torture isn’t the worst thing that can happen, watching others suffer is.  It killed Reynolds to do that, but he’s a commander.  It’s his job to be above emotions, to weigh the importance of one or two lives against the entire planet.  It sounds cold, I know, but it’s necessary.”

Sam feels her chest constrict, but forces herself to stand stoically and listen to the softly spoken words.

“You asked me if I could do it, if I could stand there and watch them do that to you and the truth is I’m scared to death I couldn’t have.  I _have_ to put the big picture before everything else.  I blew up a ship with Daniel still on it.  I’ve ordered men on suicide missions.  I have killed more people point blank than I would ever want you to know about.  But seeing you huddled on that bridge...I might have screwed the entire planet just to get you out of there.  That’s what is unforgivable.”

“Jack....”

“Reynolds did what he had to.  I don’t ask you to understand or even forgive him, but at least respect how hard it was for him.  He did the right thing.”

Sam closes her eyes briefly against rising emotion.  “You came all this way to tell me this?”

He looks away, down the street where a couple of kids play in the quiet street.  “I thought you deserved an answer.”

She does, she just never expected to get it.

“Sam?” a voice calls from the front porch and they both turn to see Elizabeth sitting in the doorway.  “Invite that nice man in for some supper and quit making him stand in the street like some vagrant.”

“Would have been more polite to call rather than to just show up expecting food,” Jacob grumbles, but Elizabeth just rolls her eyes.

“I won’t take no for an answer,” she calls.

Sam takes a deep breath and tries her best not to look mortified, but when she finally looks back at Jack she finds him fighting a smile of amusement.

“You don’t have to subject yourself to this,” Sam says lowly, giving him an out, but even as she says it, she realizes she doesn’t want him to leave. 

Jacks nods his head and begins to back away with what she really wants to believe is disappointment.  “But I’d like it if you’d stay,” she blurts, refusing to let go of his hand.

He looks surprised.  “You’re sure?”

Amazingly, for once she is.  “Yes.”

“I’d be honored, ma’am,” Jack calls out over Sam’s shoulder with his most charming smile.

Jacob snorts and stomps back into the house after his wife.

“You’re one brave man, Jack O’Neill,” Sam observes as she finally pulls open the gate.

“Or stupid,” he mumbles, but his hand supports her arm and he deliberately slows his pace to match her limp as they start up the path.

“There’s a lot of that going around,” Sam observes.

*     *     *

Elizabeth watches Sam and the man slowly make their way up the front path, his hand carefully cradling her elbow. 

She has been waiting for someone from her daughter’s life to appear for days, but she has to admit this man is not at all what she had expected.  He’s a bit older than Sam, ruggedly handsome in his own way, but most importantly, Sam seems more settled walking there by his side than she has since she got here.  Elizabeth just hopes the poor man knows what he’s walking into.  Tense doesn’t really begin to describe the charged atmosphere of the house the last few days.

“This is Jack O’Neill,” Sam says when they finally make it inside.  “Jack, my mother, Elizabeth, and my father, Jacob.”

Jacob offers an undoubtedly stiff handshake while Elizabeth smiles and easily works her way through the expected pleasantries.  Jack, as it turns out, is not an unfamiliar name.  Sam has never spoken of him, but it’s a name they’ve both heard as they sat together outside Sam’s door in the middle of the night.  Glancing at Jacob, she knows he’s made the same connection.

“Jacob, would you pull out the nice plates, please?” Elizabeth asks, deciding that keeping him busy would be best for everyone involved.

Jack seems alarmed, though whether by the offer of nice plates or the increasingly unpleasant expression on Jacob’s face, she can’t be sure.  “Please don’t go to any trouble on my account,” he says.

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth says. “We so rarely have guests.”

Jack sends a glance in Sam’s direction and she shrugs one shoulder, tilting her head to the side as if saying, ‘Just go with it.’ 

Interesting.

“So, Jack, what brings you out to our little corner of the world?” Elizabeth asks once they are all seated at the table, passing bowls and platters around.

“Sam and I work together out at NORAD,” he supplies.  “I just wanted to see how she is doing.”

Elizabeth can see Jacob sizing the other man up as he passes the green beans.  He’s been spoiling for a fight for days, too many nights with not enough sleep and only the company of two women not willing to give him the satisfaction of confrontation.  Jack must look a lot like fresh meat to Jacob.

Elizabeth tries to catch Jacob’s eye, but he’s deliberately not looking in her direction.

“You don’t look like much of a scientist,” Jacob says.

“That would be because I’m not,” Jack replies with a neutral smile like he’s used to dealing with thinly veiled hostility.

“Jack is George’s second in command, Dad,” Sam says, not a small amount of exasperation leaking into her tone. 

Jacob’s eyebrows fly up at that unexpected tidbit.  Elizabeth is not without her own surprise.  She never thought Sam would ever look twice at an officer, having more than enough reasons to hate the military institution, and there is no doubt in Elizabeth’s mind that Sam has done more than look at this man twice.

“ _Colonel_ Jack O’Neill,” Sam reiterates a moment later, probably hoping to shame her father into civility.

Jacob must take the hint because conversation boils down to neutral small talk for at least fifteen minutes.  Jacob lets Elizabeth control the conversation, even though he spends a lot of time staring intently at his plate.

She should have known the strained pleasantries were too good to last.

Jacob starts innocuously at first, asking a few questions about the facility out in Colorado Springs, but he doesn’t get far, because Jack keeps smiling apologetically and saying “classified.”  Jacob’s eyes narrow in annoyance, but he’s been at the other end of that line far too many times to say anything about it.

Elizabeth finds amusement in the observation that Jack and Jacob are quite a lot alike.  She’s not sure anyone else would though.  She interjects again, hoping to redirect the conversation, but Jacob seems to have finally reached the end of his patience.

Sam has given them little to no information about her injuries, her job, or to be honest, her life at all.  Having George Hammond’s second in command at their mercy is probably more than Jacob can handle.

“Personally, I’m still trying to work out how my daughter got the crap beat out of her working on deep space radar telemetry,” Jacob says.

So much for pleasantries.

“Dad,” Sam admonishes.

“What?” Jacob counters.  “I think it’s valid question.”

Jack, having been foolish enough to actually try to take a bite of his meal, seems to take an inordinately long time to chew.  When he finally swallows, he speaks in a low, even voice.  “Accidents happen, even when you least expect them.” 

At first glance it seems a crudely cavalier statement, but Elizabeth notices the hard set of the man’s jaw that belies any indifference on his part.  Predictably, such subtlety completely escapes her husband’s notice.

Jacob pokes his fork in Sam’s direction.  “A busted leg, a broken face, and nightmares loud enough to raise the dead.  You call that an _accident_?”

Sam, looking decidedly pale, thumps her hand on the table, her fingers twined in the fabric of her napkin.  “That’s enough.”

She hasn’t raised her voice, but they all stare as if she has yelled. 

“Sam-,” Jacob starts, tone heavy with indignation.

“No,” Sam snaps, cutting him off.  “He saved my life, Dad.  He’s saved the entire-.” She stops talking abruptly as if she’s almost said too much, her eyes darting to Jack.  He’s gone completely still, watching her with that look again, the one that has all of Elizabeth’s alarms ringing.

Sam releases her death grip on the napkin and smoothes it across her lap with deliberate motions.  “He saved my life,” she repeats, now staring at her plate. “That’s all you need to know.”

Elizabeth and Jacob look across the table at each other in shock.  Elizabeth is horrified to hear that Sam’s experience had been that much of a close call.  What was she doing that her life needed saving in the first place?

“You saved yourself, Sam,” Jack says, staring hard at her until she finally meets his gaze across the table.  “I just gave you a ride home.”

Elizabeth is amazed to see Sam huff in amusement, the ghost of a smile on her lips, the first she’s seen on her daughter’s face since she showed up so abruptly the week before.  The sadness still lingers around her eyes, but for the first time Elizabeth lets herself believe that Sam will overcome this.

Sam and Jack are still regarding each other across the table.  Elizabeth knows that Jacob probably only has an inch or so left on his tether, so she claps her hands together with a smile.

“Who’s ready for dessert?”

Dessert progresses slightly better than dinner, mainly because Jacob has left himself without a leg to stand on and sits in thoughtful silence.  Elizabeth fills the awkward silence as best she can, but is not surprised when Jack turns down her offer of coffee or a second helping of dessert.  Smart man.

Sam follows Jack out the front door, walking him out to the gate.

Setting Jacob to the dishes, Elizabeth pushes outside to watch Sam and Jack talk to each other from the darkness of the front porch, their body language screaming the details neither had been willing to give.  Sam’s arms are folded tightly across her chest as she looks at her feet, listening, but then she smiles abruptly, canting her head to one side.  The way she looks up at Jack in that moment makes Elizabeth feel like a voyeur. 

Jack, for his part, seems to be doing his best not to touch Sam, but, as he has all evening, watches her closely as if looking for clues to some puzzle he hasn’t quite worked out.  When they finally say their goodnights, the gate carefully shut between them, Jack sends a small salute in Elizabeth’s direction, letting her know he’s been aware of her scrutiny. 

Elizabeth smiles and waves in farewell.

“Is he coming back tomorrow?” she asks when Sam reaches the steps.

Sam pauses, looking back in the direction Jack has just disappeared into.  “Yes.”

Good, they haven’t managed to run him off completely, then.  “How long have you two been seeing each other?”

“We’re not,” Sam says a little too quickly.

Elizabeth gives her a look of disbelief. 

Sighing in defeat, Sam collapses into a nearby chair.  “We were...something.  But not anymore.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” she says.

“Did you ever get an announcement from Jeff?” Sam asks abruptly, and Elizabeth isn’t sure whether this is a change of subject or not.

“A girl,” Elizabeth quietly confirms.

Sam closes her eyes, letting her head fall back against the siding.

Elizabeth has done nothing but give Sam space since she came back, but she’s been pushing them out of her life for over four years now and Elizabeth has no intention of letting this moment slide by.  “There are lots of things I would love to have sheltered you from, Sam…but losing the baby… it was tragic and horrible and I can only even imagine, but you can’t let it define you.  Don’t let it dictate your life.”

“I have no idea how to do that,” Sam says, wearily rubbing at her shoulder.

“Well, I think you’ve found someone willing to help.”

Sam lets out a huff of disbelief or maybe just self-deprecation.  Elizabeth can’t quite tell anymore, she just knows she’s getting tired of both.  “He loves you.  Even I can see that much.”

Sam looks almost comically startled by the proclamation, as if she has never let herself consider it, but close on its heels is what Elizabeth can only call panic.  “He’s not...Jeff.”

“Does he need to be?”

“No.  Yes.  God, I don’t know.”

Elizabeth watches Sam’s fingers pick at the caning on her chair in frustration. “You are so like your father, no matter how hard you try not to be.  You need to learn that you don’t have to live in absolutes.”

Sam stills completely at her words, letting Elizabeth know she’s struck pretty close to something vital.

“Maybe it’s time to consider that this is who you were meant to be all along,” Elizabeth observes.  She doesn’t say anything else, knowing that Sam, like her father, could never be pushed.  She’s a smart girl, though, and Elizabeth has every confidence that she’ll work it out eventually.

They sit together, listening to the wind sweeping in off the harbor and the warbling response of frogs calling to each other in the dark.

“I miss him,” Sam confesses so quietly that her voice nearly gets lost in the evening song.

"Jeff?" Elizabeth asks.

Sam takes a breath.  "No."

Elizabeth reaches over and runs her fingers through her daughter’s hair.  “I’d say that’s a pretty good place to start.”


	35. Be Still

As Jack approaches the Carters’ house for the second time, he is more than slightly pleased not to see Jacob out on the front porch.  Of all the things that happened yesterday, Jacob’s belligerence was probably the least surprising, but that doesn’t mean Jack is looking forward to another round with the guy. 

To be honest, Jack hadn’t thought much past what he needed to say to Sam.  He always knew she deserved an answer; that she was struggling to live with the knowledge that there are people out there capable of treating her as less than human, just an object to be used as a means to an end.  He’s spent more than half his life dealing with that realization, but seeing her in that hospital bed, her face still swollen and bruised from something he hadn’t been able to protect her from… He couldn’t have said a rational word to save his life in that moment.

It took almost a week for the rage to recede long enough to see her side of it.  It’s still there, simmering just beneath the surface, and Jacob had unknowingly jabbed just a little too close to it last night.  Jack can’t promise to keep his cool through another round of Jacob demanding to know why his daughter hadn’t been protected, because he’s still trying to answer that himself.

But Jack hadn’t been lying last night.  He knows that when it came down to it, Sam had done the saving.  He’s still in awe of the memory of her striding across that room, ignoring her broken body, not even the slightest trace of hesitation as she jabbed Apophis.  He doubts she’s ready to see herself as a hero, though.

But she’d asked him to stay.  He hadn’t seen that coming.  And when she’d looked up at him from across that fence and asked him to come back the next day, he’d agreed, even though he still has no idea what to expect from her.

Looking into the house from the sidewalk, Jack can see Sam’s mother through a large window, both hands working something on a low table.  As he opens the gate and starts up the path she catches sight of him.

“Colonel,” Elizabeth says, calling out through the open window. “Come on in!”

She meets him in the hall, wiping her fingers free of flour and bringing with her the yeasty smell of rising bread. “Nice to see you again so soon,” she says, seemingly genuinely pleased to see him. 

Jack smiles wryly; she must assume he’s a glutton for punishment.  Maybe he is.  “I just dropped by to say goodbye to Sam before my flight,” he says.

Elizabeth brushes back a strand of hair from her face, leaving a streak of flour above her eyebrow.  “Leaving already?”

“I have to get back,” Jack says with a shrug.  He looks back into the house, wondering what his chances are for getting out of here without seeing Jacob.

“Jacob’s in town today,” Elizabeth says as if reading his mind.  She’s looking down at her hands, freeing one last nail from stubborn clinging flour, but he can see a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“Okay,” Jack says for lack of anything else.

“You’ll have to forgive him for the way he behaved last night.  He’s not dealing particularly well with Sam’s…injuries.  Jacob is one of those people who desperately needs to _know_ things.  Though I guess it’s always difficult to see your child suffering even when it isn’t classified.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says.

Elizabeth shakes her head.  “It isn’t your fault Sam got hurt, now is it?”

Jack couldn’t have stopped the attack on the Beta Site.  He knows that.  But if Sam hadn’t felt the desperate need to get far away from him, maybe she never would have been there in the first place.  Maybe he could have done _something_.

“Oh, I see,” Elizabeth says and Jack’s scared that she actually might.  She leans forward conspiratorially, resting her elbows on her knees.  “I’ll let you in on a secret, Jack.  We womenfolk are perfectly capable of messing things about all on our very own.”

There’s a ding from inside the kitchen and Elizabeth waves her dishtowel at him.  “Sam’s out back,” she says, grabbing one of her wheels and swinging around to head back into her kitchen.

Jack’s left feeling a bit stunned, like somehow the incredibly genteel woman has just slipped something by him without his noticing.  Suddenly she seems the perfect match for Jacob’s stubborn sullenness.  What a house this must have been to grow up in.

He passes through the dining room they ate in last night and catches sight of Sam leaning on the railing on the back deck.

“Jack,” she says, looking windblown and strangely nervous.

Some of his stunned confusion must still be visible on his face because Sam frowns, leaning around his shoulder to look back into the house.  “I take it you got a dose of my mother’s idea of small talk.”

Jack nods.  “She’s pretty…amazing.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, smiling to herself.

Jack steps up next to her and they both look out over the rather impressive view of the harbor below.  There’s a small fleet of tiny sailboats playing follow the leader, pairs of little kids trying to learn the intricacies of harnessing the wind.  When a gentle gust comes up the hill at just the right angle, they can pick out laughter and the screeching voices of the amateur captains.

“My mother loves the sea,” Sam says after a while.

“How did it happen?” Jack asks, his eyes on the wide wheelchair ramp that fills a large portion of the backyard.

“Car accident.”

For a moment he thinks she will leave it at that, but telling tension sharpens the angle of her shoulders, so he holds his tongue and waits.

“We’d been visiting my cousins in Atlanta,” she says, her voice taking on a confessional quality that tells Jack he’s stumbled onto something vital.  “My father was supposed to pick us up at the airport, but as usual something came up.  We waited for almost two hours before my mom shrugged and decided we could just take a cab.  She was trying to make it sound like a big adventure, but kids can always see more than adults think.  She was disappointed.  We’d been gone for two weeks, after all.  I imagine she must have missed her husband.

“I was so pissed at Dad.  I could never understand what was so much more important than us.”  They share an ironic glance and Jack thinks of her voice, slightly shaky as she held a gun for the first time.

 _If only my father could see me now._

“We were about halfway home when a drunk driver careened over the divider and hit us head on.  The next thing I knew, everything was twisted and I couldn’t tell what was front or back.  I was fine mostly, but my mother...”  Sam shakes her head, wrapping her arms around herself.  “She was unconscious and there was so much blood.  I didn’t know what to do.  Her neck was cut pretty badly, so I pressed my hands against her and waited.  I watched each breath grow slower and slower and I just knew I was watching her die.”

“How long?” Jack asks, surprised by the gruffness of his voice.

“It took them almost twenty minutes to free us.  The driver had died on impact and my mother shattered three vertebrae in her back.”

“She would have died if you hadn’t been there.”

Sam shrugs casually, but her hands are clenched tight enough to turn her knuckles white. “I made every promise I could think of, sitting in that car waiting.  I swore that I would never be like my father, that I would never let my family be less important than my career.  I would make family _everything_.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

It’s the longest real conversation they’ve ever had and Jack thinks that should say something about how they stumbled into each other.  Sam is still staring out over the backyard, but she’s radiating nervous tension and he has no idea what that means.

“I’m going back to Colorado tonight,” Jack says, even though she already knows.

She nods, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

“Do you think you might come back?”  It’s not until he’s said it that he realizes that’s the question he really came all this way to ask.

Sam’s head snaps up, something flashing in her eyes that he refuses to call hope.  “I want to.”  She’s frightened and he doesn’t know how much of that is PTSD and how much is this thing between them.

“You know where to find me,” Jack says and it’s all he has left to offer her after everything that’s been said between them.

She must get that because she stops him, reaching out to touch his shoulder.  When he pauses she pulls back, her fingers curling into a tight fist.  “I didn’t mean it, what I said that day.”

Jack automatically stiffens, remembering that particular day far too well.   
 _  
We both know what this was: a pleasant way to pass the time._

Sam takes a step closer to him, the earnestness in her eyes almost painful.  “It was cruel and foolish, and I didn’t mean it at all.  I just need you to know that.”  
 _  
We womenfolk are perfectly capable of messing things about all on our very own._ Jack doesn’t doubt that.  He’s just not ready for Sam to carry all the blame for the sorry state of things between them.  He leans one hip against the banister and sighs.

“I let you leave just as much as you walked away,” Jack says.  He’d done everything he could to make it easy for her and she’d still ended up smack in the middle of his nightmare.  “But it hasn’t really changed anything, has it?”

She reaches for his hand, wrapping her fingers tightly around his.  “No,” she says. “No, it hasn’t.”

Jack stares at their hands.  “I don’t have a clue what to do about that,” he confesses.  It feels a bit liberating, to be that boldly honest for once.

They stand there for a while, four feet of careful distance between them even as their fingers refuse to let go.  Then Sam takes one timid step and then another and suddenly she’s invading his personal space, her arms gingerly wrapping around his shoulders as if waiting to be pushed away.  She needn’t have worried; his hands are sliding around her waist before his mind registers the impulse.  He concentrates on the way his body curls so easily around hers, the warmth of her breath against his neck, and the way all the tension finally drains from her body as his hands run up and down her back.

“Thank you for coming, Jack,” she says against his ear.

He squeezes her once, kisses her briefly on the head and steps away.

Nothing more really needs to be said.

*     *     *

Sam watches Jack walk away, her skin still buzzing.  
 _  
Maybe it’s time to consider that this is who you were meant to be all along._

She walks inside and grabs the nearest phone, her fingers trembling as they punch out a number. 

“This is Dr. Carter,” she says when someone on the other end picks up. “I’d like to speak with Dr. MacKenzie, please.”


	36. Better Angels

Hearing a soft knock at his front door, Jason Reynolds curses under his breath. He’s in the middle of the daily regiment his physical therapist has insisted upon, no matter how often Jason comments that the cure seems to be a lot worse than the injury. If she says, “No pain, no gain,” to him one more time he might just lose it.

There’s another, even more timid knock at the door, and Jason slips his brace back over his right hand, strapping it into place. “Coming!” he calls out, really hoping he isn’t going to have to deal with a door to door magazine salesman on top of everything else today.

When he finally pulls open the front door, though, he finds probably the last person he expects to see on his doorstep: Sam Carter.

It’s the first time he’s seen her since that day in the cell. He’d been sent straight to the local military hospital for extensive surgeries on his hand and side. By the time he ever set foot on base again she was long gone, no one seeming to know if she was ever coming back.

But here she is in jeans and a light sweater, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her face is completely free of bruising and he can’t see any sign of a cast. If it weren’t for the enormous brace on his hand and the wariness in her eyes, he might be able to fool himself into thinking they were back on the Beta Site and that none of this had ever happened.

“Dr. Carter,” he says in belated greeting, trying not to openly grimace at his uncharacteristic use of her title. He’d always called her Sam. Before.

She seems to take it in stride though. “Jason,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind me just dropping in on you like this. I would have called, but...” She just sort of shrugs and she doesn’t have to say anything for him to know why she hadn’t called. This is hard enough in person.

“No, it’s no bother,” Jason manages to say. “Do you want to come in?”

He pulls the door open, not missing her hesitation on the threshold, but with a look of determination she steps inside. Jason closes the door behind them and they stand in the middle of his entryway for a few minutes, mired in awkward silence.

“You want something to drink?” he finally asks in desperation.

“Sure,” she says.

He leads her back into his kitchen and she leans self-consciously against a counter as he pulls out two glasses. One of the glasses sets down awkwardly, his grip not quite strong enough and it slips off the edge of the counter, shattering on the floor.

“Dammit!” Jason swears more out of frustration than anything. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sam flinch at the outburst.

“Let me help you,” she says, dropping to the floor.

“Sam, no, you’re going to cut yourself,” Jason says, rummaging for a dustpan under the sink. He kneels next to her, trying to sweep in some of the larger pieces, but he can’t quite get the right angle with his cumbersome hand.

“Jason,” Sam says lowly, her hand reaching out to touch the back of his. “Let me.”

He lets her take them, sitting back against his cabinets, wondering how this could possibly be any more awkward.

“Your hand,” Sam says after long moments, her eyes intent on the floor. “Did...did he do that?”

She doesn’t have to say his name for Jason to know who she’s talking about. “Most of it,” he answers.

“Is it permanent?” she asks, dumping some of the larger pieces into his wastebasket.

“No. They think with a few more surgeries that I might get my original range of motion back.” He would be out already if there wasn’t that hope. What kind of airman would he make if he couldn’t even hold a gun?

She’s swept up all of the glass by now, but she’s still moving the brush across the floor, sweeping up imaginary dust. He watches her without comment.

“I blamed you,” she blurts, still not looking at him.

Jason feels his head nod, not really surprised, just...not particularly looking forward to dealing with her anger, no matter how natural it is. They were never close friends, but they had worked well together, built that place from the ground up together. Everything had hinged on their mutual respect. Now, looking at her, all he can remember are her screams.

She finally looks up at him, only there’s none of the anger he’s expecting. He wonders what she’s forced to remember when she looks at him.

“My therapists have lots of fancy terms for it,” she says. “Reasons why I felt the way I did. But I’m not really looking for an excuse. The truth is, I have no idea what it must have been like for you, to make those decisions, to...watch what they did to me. I can’t claim to understand that. Maybe I never will.”

He can tell she really doesn’t want him to explain anything or make up excuses for what happened and he’s relieved, because he doesn’t have any of that to offer her.

“But I can accept that you did what you had to, that it wasn’t easy for you either,” she continues. “I’m just sorry...for so many things. It’s insanity the way I can go over it again and again in my mind, nitpicking for that one thing I could have done differently. If I’d just run faster, or shot that Jaffa. If I’d just been a little stronger-.”

Jason reaches out for her arm, stopping her mid-sentence. “I know,” he says, his voice gruff. “I know, Sam.”

And he does, because he’s spent every moment of the last two months thinking the exact same things. They stare at each other, some form of clarity there, born of their shared experience.

She nods her head in acceptance and he pulls himself up off the floor, reaching his good hand down to help her up.

“You still want that drink?” he asks.

“No, thanks,” she says, some of the awkwardness creeping back in. “I think I’m okay.”

He knows she’s said what she came here to say. He walks her back to the door, pulling it open. “Thanks for dropping by, Sam.”

She nods, giving him a tight smile.

As she steps out onto his front walk, he calls out after her. “What are you going to do now?”

She pauses, turning back to him with her hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun. “I’m going to go back to work, back to my life,” she says. “Apparently they need a lot of help reverse engineering our new acquisition and I’m always up for a challenge.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he says.

“What about you?” she asks. “Will I see you back on base?”

Jason wiggles his fingers, feeling the stiffness of his ravaged ligaments. He has months more ahead of him of clumsiness and pain, but after that...there is always a chance.

“Count on it,” he says.

She smiles, giving him a small wave.

Jason watches her until she disappears around the corner before going back inside and finishing every one of his exercises.


	37. No One Said It Would Be Easy

Weeks pass before Sam finally does return to Colorado Springs, but for Jack they aren’t weeks of silence.  A few times a week there’s a card of yet another view of the quaint little harbor town waiting for him in his mailbox.  In them Sam writes about how her injuries are healing, regales him with amusing stories about her parents, and sometimes slips in childhood memories, Jacob teaching her to drive or her first science fair victory over the obnoxious brain bully Derrick Jennings in the third grade.

He’s not really sure if there is some secret message layered in there, but she does sign each card with “I miss you.”

For now, it’s enough.

When she finally does come back, it’s without warning, sticking her head into Jack’s office one day as if she were still a permanent fixture of the base. 

“Hi,” she says, one hand clinging to the doorjamb.

“Sam,” Jack says, pushing back from his desk.  It’s been six weeks since he’s seen her and he’s caught a bit off balance to have her appear so suddenly.  Her skin is a few shades darker and her hair has the gleam of someone who has spent a lot of time out of doors, but most importantly, every last trace of bruising has faded from her face.

She smiles, taking a few hesitant steps into his office.  “Are you going off world this week?” she asks.

“Not until Friday,” he says.

“I was wondering if maybe...I could make you dinner.”

She’s watching him closely, looking so terribly hopeful and uncertain and he knows this is the signal he’s been waiting for, the real promise of those letters.  _I’m coming back._  

“That sounds great,” he says.

“How about tomorrow night?”

“Sure.”

“Good,” she says, sounding relieved.  Then she glances at her watch and starts backing out the door.  “I have a meeting with Dr. MacKenzie.  See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, watching her disappear out the door.

 _Nothing is over._

*     *     *

Sam seems genuinely pleased to see Jack when he shows up the next evening, but she’s still radiating nervous energy that inexplicably sets him on edge.  He follows her back into the kitchen and soon she’s standing at the stove stirring a pot full of something delicious smelling and Jack swears he can hear her counting under her breath.

He leans against the nearest counter and watches her, his fingers absently playing with some utensil whose purpose completely eludes him.  A wisp of Sam’s hair has fallen into her face and she blows at it with absent irritation as she continues her complete concentration on the array of bubbling pots in front of her.

“I thought you hated to cook,” he eventually comments.

She misses a stir, stumbling in her rhythm for just a moment.  Then she shrugs, her smile a little brittle around the edges.  “I don’t _hate_ it,” she qualifies.

Now he is certain she is counting as her strokes once again become fluid and sure.

Jack steps up behind Sam and settles his hand on top of hers, stilling the motion.  He can feel her stiffen at the contact even as she leans almost imperceptibly towards him.

“I need to keep stirring or it will burn,” she protests, her voice slightly breathless.

“You don’t have to do this, Sam,” he replies.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says tightly.

There is something desperate about her that Jack can’t quite put his finger on, but he knows somehow that this is important.  “I don’t care if you can cook,” he clarifies.

“I invited you over for dinner,” she points out.

“I didn’t come for the food.”

She turns slightly to see his face, maybe to assess his sincerity, but before she can form a coherent response a sharp, smoky odor reaches Jack’s nose and he drops his hand from hers.

Sam stirs the sauce, revealing a charred bottom layer.  She stares at it for a long time and Jack has the horrified feeling that she is near tears.  But then she blinks once and it’s gone.

“Take-out it is,” she sighs, turning off the burners with a snap.

Outwardly she seems annoyed, but Jack doesn’t think he’s imagining the relief that softens the angles of her shoulders.

“Chinese?” Jack offers brightly, his hand lightly squeezing Sam’s arm.

She smiles at him, half annoyed, half amused.  There is still something there, hiding under her hard-edged smile, but for now he’s happy to have her smiling at all.

“You’re paying,” she clarifies.

Jack reaches out and tucks the stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Sounds good to me.”

An hour later, halfway through a carton of mongolian beef, Sam sighs audibly and glances at the pots still sitting on now cold burners.

“I said I’d do the dishes,” Jack says.

Sam shakes her head and sets down her chopsticks.  “It’s not that.”

“What then?” Jack asks.

She looks a little embarrassed, but she’s obviously making a concerted effort.  “I’m just...not sure I know any other way to do this,” she says.

 _Ah_ , is all Jack can think.  Now they are actually getting somewhere.

He thinks back to the photo tucked away in the drawer of his desk.  Sam on Jeff’s arm, elegant in a floor length black gown.  Beautiful, yes, but something about that photo has always nagged at Jack, causing him to keep it like some puzzle he might be able to work out if he just stared at it long enough.

“Did Jeff ask you to stop working?” Jack asks.

“What?” she says, looking completely thrown by the question. “No, of course not.”

“Let’s face it, you’re a genius and there’s no reason to think that you haven’t always been, if I can trust anything Jacob has to say.”

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t contradict him.

“So why didn’t you ever do anything with all of that before?”

He thinks she won’t answer when all she does is stab her noodles with her chopsticks in careless agitation for a few minutes. 

“I missed our one year anniversary,” she says eventually.

That is not what he expects to hear.  “Was he upset?”

“No.”  She sounds almost sullen about that.

“I don’t understand.”

“I was really close to finishing my first article for publication, just some last tiny details that were driving me completely nuts.  I worked straight through our date,” she explains.  “I couldn’t believe I’d done that.  It didn’t matter that he wasn’t upset; _I_ didn’t want to be that person.”

She looks insanely uncomfortable talking about this, probably just as uncomfortable as he is to hear it, but they are doing things differently this time, no matter how hard it is.

“Jeff wasn’t just a boyfriend,” she continues.  “He was...this whole _life_.  He was security and love and family.”

“Everything you had promised yourself,” Jack observes.

“What?”

“In the car with your mother after the crash.”  
 _  
I made every promise I could think of, sitting in that car waiting.  I swore that I would never be like my father.  I would never let my family be less important than my career._

“Yeah,” she says with a frown.  “I guess so.”

“So what went wrong?”

“He’s a pediatrician, did I ever tell you that?”

Jack feels a bit like he is watching a tennis match, the conversation bouncing back in forth with seemingly no purpose, but he rolls with it.  “No, you never did.”

She nods, her fingers now working on a fortune cooking, tearing it apart piece by delicate piece.  “We were going to call her Jane.  Our daughter.”

She pushes up from the table, dumping her plate in the sink.  “I didn’t just lose the baby.  Hysterectomy.  They said I would have died without it.  So you see, I can’t ever have children.”

“That’s why you left,” Jack says, one small piece of the puzzle finally sliding home.

Sam is still standing with her arms braced on either side of the sink, staring out the window, her back impossibly stiff.  “What was I, if I couldn’t be a mother?”

“You were his wife,” Jack points out.

“It’s not that simple.”

“No, I guess not.”

He leaves it there because they are both exhausted and she’s beginning to get that panicked look he’s finally learning heralds full on Sam meltdown.  Instead, he steps up next to her at the sink and begins to fill the sink with warm water.  They stand side by side, Jack washing while Sam dries, all communication stripped down to the incidental contact of fingers, her shoulder brushing against him as she reaches into the sink.

Two people standing so close, but with a vast chasm between them.

He leaves as soon as the last dish is dry and on the drive home he still can’t decide if they’ve taken a step forward or if they were just back down at the bottom of the hill all over again.

*     *     *

Sam is sitting on his front steps when Jack pulls into his driveway the next evening.  She’s leaning back, elbows resting on the top step, her legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankle.  She straightens as he climbs out of his truck, stretching her back slightly and pulling her knees in.

He wonders how long she’s been sitting there, carefully perched right on the edge of his space as if not daring to trespass any further.  It’s late enough that the setting summer sun paints everything in his yard shades of amber.  Jack dawdled hours longer on base today than he normally would.  Judging from the sheer relief he feels at seeing her there, he’d been avoiding the possibility of coming home to an empty house. 

She watches him as he walks up the path.  When she doesn’t rise, he sits down next to her.

“Jeff didn’t ask me not to work,” she says and he can tell she’s done nothing but think about this since he left her place the night before.  “I’m the one who did that.  I think I got it in my head that I could only be one thing.  Scientist or wife, never both.  And then suddenly all I had left was my career.  When the opportunity to be a scientist again appeared out of the blue…I just grabbed it with both hands.  Maybe it was selfish or maybe it was just long overdue, but it was a bit like an amputation, cutting off everything else in my life in one sweeping motion.  Including Jeff.”

She’s wringing her hands in her lap, absently rubbing at her unadorned ring finger, and Jack watches the motion with sick fascination until she turns slightly to look at him, her hands pressing flat against her legs.

“Then there you were and it all snuck up on me,” she says.  “Suddenly we were in the middle of something and I couldn’t even remember getting there.  But I didn’t dare let myself believe that I could have both.  Sure enough, everything went to hell and the job kept getting in the way.  Then Jeff shows up to tell me he’s going to be a father and I just…snapped.  So I did what I do best.  I ran.  Again.”

He thinks of those last weeks before she left, her strange distance, and tries to understand how he could have missed all of this so completely.  She’d never told him why Jeff had shown up that day, but he knows now what that must have done to her, to see what should have been hers taken over by another woman.

“The thing about Jeff…,” Sam says, her voice cracking.  She shakes her head, looking down at her feet.

“It’s okay, Sam,” Jack says, even though it feels anything but. 

She gazes up at him and he wants to look anywhere but at her.  She tentatively touches his arm, her hand settling just above his wrist. 

“I don’t love Jeff,” she says.  “Maybe I did, once.  Or maybe I only loved the idea.  All I know for sure is that if I could transport myself back into that life right this instant, I wouldn’t.  I think I should feel guilty about that, but I don’t.”  Her fingers tighten on his arm until he meets her gaze.  “This is where I want to be.  I just...I don’t know how to be with you and not be that woman I used to pretend to be.”

It’s a pattern with them, pushing up against walls only to retreat back until one of them finally takes that sluggish, painful, impossible step, letting just enough light in to illuminate another hidden, shriveled secret.  Some days it feels like it can never be enough, like there will always be one more wall.

Then there are days like today, where she looks up at him in the mellow, rusty light and makes him really believe he isn’t just a consolation prize.  
   
It’s a little frightening just how much he wants that to be true.

Jack slides an arm around her, pulling her close, and she drops her head to his shoulder, her thigh pressing warmly against his.  He lowers his face to her hair, breathing in the familiar scent that still, all these months later, has the power to affect him.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promises.


	38. Nothing Like You And I

Sam is curled up on one end of Jack’s couch, some completely ridiculous movie about spies and cold fusion on the television.  Jack lounges at the other end, his feet up on the coffee table and a now-empty bowl of popcorn on the couch next to him.  They’ve been taking turns mocking both the improbably dreadful aim of the bad guys and the pretty light shows that pass for science for the past two hours, but with the credits rolling they have fallen back into comfortable silence.

Seeing her there, so comfortably curled up with her shoes carelessly kicked off and her hand tucked up under her cheek, makes Jack feel seductively content.  There are still a lot of things left to say though.  Taking a deep breath, he resigns himself to broaching a subject he’s been avoiding all week, not particularly wanting to do anything that might upset the fragile balance they’ve managed to build.  Or maybe that’s just the excuse he’s been clinging to.

Leaning forward, he moves the empty bowl to the coffee table.  “I’m going to Abydos for a couple days,” he says.

“Yeah?” Sam says, sleepily pushing up on one elbow to look at him. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

She raises an eyebrow and he knows she’s wondering why this is the first she’s heard of it.

Jack looks down, his eyes latching on the popcorn bowl.  “There’s going to be a ceremony for Skaara,” he says as casually as he can manage.

Apparently not casually enough though, because she shifts positions, sitting up to look at him.  “A funeral?”

She says the word so softly, but Jack still wants to flinch.

“Yes,” he confirms.  “They had to make a statue, a sort of stand-in to help his soul find the afterlife since...there was no body to recover.  They just finished it.”  Jack reaches for the remote, turning off the TV, trying to pretend he doesn’t feel the weight of Sam’s regard against his skin.

“He meant a lot to you,” she says tentatively as if aware she’s treading dangerously close to something she never would have dared during their first time around.

More than anything Jack wants to push up off of this couch and not have this conversation.  Lying to Sara, concealing things from her, had been the default mode in their marriage.  He could blame his job for that, but he has no ground to stand on with Sam.  No excuse to lie to her.  He convinced himself he was just protecting her by not sharing certain parts of his life with her when they first got together, but now it feels like maybe he’d just slipped back into default mode, the only way he had ever known how to have a relationship.

 _I just don’t know any other way to do this_ , Sam had confessed to him not so long ago.

Jack picks at the blanket lying on the back of the couch.  “Yes, he did,” he says, each word a struggle.  “When I first met Skaara, he reminded me a lot of Charlie.”

Charlie’s name seems to hang forebodingly in the air for a moment, until Sam slides across the couch, settling next to him, close, but not touching.

“You would have liked Skaara,” Jack finds himself saying.  “He’s the one who convinced me to give up smoking.”

Sam wrinkles her nose in mock disapproval.  “You used to smoke?”

Jack smiles.  “Yeah.  Sara hated it.  She used to make me stand outside, no matter how deep the snow got.”

Sam glances over his shoulder to the small ledge behind the couch.  “Is that her?”

Jack forces himself to reach up and take down the framed photograph, passing it to Sam.  “Sara and Charlie,” he says.

Sam’s fingers trace across the faces.  “They’re beautiful,” she says.

He doesn’t trust himself to answer.

“I never thanked you,” she says, still holding the photo almost reverently, “for the photo album.  It meant…more than you can know.”

He nods mutely.

She hands the photograph back to him, shifting toward him.  “I’m just sorry I couldn’t take better care of it.”

“I kept the originals,” he says, his fingers tightening around the frame.

“What?”

“I made copies,” he clarifies. “You never know what can happen off-world.”  They share an ironic glance.  In retrospect that seems like foreshadowing he should have picked up on.

“But not the one of...,” Sam says, trailing off as if she can’t quite bring herself to say his son’s name.

“Charlie,” Jack finishes for her, remembering the frayed edge to that worn photograph, an image he’d carried with him for years.  “No, but I have more of those.”

He looks down at the picture of Charlie sitting next to Sara on the front stoop of their old house.  This photo has sat on that ledge for almost six years now, but he can’t be sure he’s ever had the strength to even look at it.

“It’s my fault he died.”  The words are out of his mouth before he can censor himself.

Sam’s hand settles on his arm.

“He found my gun.”

She sucks in a breath, her fingers tightening painfully, but he welcomes it, the honesty of her horror.  She doesn’t say how sorry she is, or try to convince him that it hadn’t been his fault.  It makes it easier to continue.

“When I went to Abydos that first time...it was supposed to be a one way trip.  Then I met Daniel and Skaara and I...”  He’s still staring down at the photograph, not wanting to see Sam’s reaction, but her hand lifts to his face, warm and insistent. 

“You came back,” she finishes for him.

“Yeah, I did.”

Her hand drops to his chest, the other curling around his arm as she settles down against his side.  “Tell me about the first time you met Skaara,” she says and Jack feels something inside him ease.

“The first time he saw us, he ran screaming for the hills,” he says, the memory still bright in his mind.

“An auspicious beginning,” Sam remarks.

“It only got more complicated from there.”

“Sounds familiar.”

It really does.  Jack shifts, putting an arm around Sam and pulling her closer.

“Can I go with you?” she asks.

It actually takes him a moment to realize what she’s asking.  “To Abydos?”

He feels her head nod against his chest. “I’d like to be there.”

He’s sure there are perfectly logical reasons for why she shouldn’t, but all he can think about is the feel of her against him and the idea that maybe this is exactly the sort of thing they were supposed to share.

“Okay.”

*     *     * 

Jack stands at the base of the gate ramp in full dress blues, each crease and pleat perfectly crisp.  The formal uniform makes things like this easier to bear somehow.  Plus, he’s fairly certain Skaara would have gotten a kick out of them.

Sam appears a few minutes later, though it takes him a moment to realize it actually _is_ her.  She’s wearing a floor length dress dyed a dusky rose that wraps around at the waist, another layer of lighter linen wrapping around her shoulders and over her head.  When she steps towards him, he can just make out the flash of sturdy hiking boots under the hem of her skirt.

“Is this alright?” Sam asks when she reaches his side.  She fidgets, running her hands down the front of the robes self-consciously.  “I had no idea what to wear, so Daniel lent me these.” 

“I think they’re a good idea,” he says, trying to put her at ease as he puts her small bag on the MALP with the rest of their supplies.

“I think they must have been his wife’s,” she says.

Jack looks at her clothes again and he can easily conjure a vision of shy, but courageous Sha'uri walking proudly by Daniel’s side.  It’s hard to believe, sometimes, that more than five years have passed since he last saw her.  “Yeah, I think so,” he says.

Her hand casually brushes against his, her eyes trailing over his uniform.  “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in dress blues before.”

“Yeah?” he says, smiling slightly.

“I like them,” she says, one hand reaching out to skim over his ribbons.

Her shoulder bumps gently into his when she turn to see Daniel enter the gate room and Jack is surprised to find himself intensely grateful she’s coming with them.  Somehow, she just makes this all seem more bearable and he thinks maybe that’s the point.

Daniel takes a moment to look Sam over, an unmistakable sheen of wistfulness there before he smiles at her and says, “Perfect.  You’ll fit right in.”

“All ready to go, Daniel?” Jack asks.

“Yeah,” Daniel confirms, his tight smile more of a grimace.  Jack knows this isn’t the way he planned to return to Abydos.

None of them had.

Jack signals the tech to start dialing and the Stargate groans into motion.  Next to him, he can feel Sam shrink back slightly at the sound.  It’s then he remembers that this will be only her second time through the gate.  He can feel tension gradually building in her as each chevron engages.  She’s frightened to step through the wormhole again, to face what might be out there, but even so, she’s still here, ready to walk through with him. 

When the wormhole engages, the enormous horizontal thrust erupting in front of them, Jack reaches for Sam’s hand.  She looks surprised, but grateful, her fingers wrapping around his in a death grip.

They follow Daniel and the MALP up the ramp.  Stopping right before the event horizon, Jack looks over at Sam, happy to see at least a little of her wonder still mixed in with her apprehension. 

“Thanks for coming with me, Sam.”

She pulls her gaze from the surface of the wormhole, smiling at him in the rippling light. “Anytime,” she says, squeezing his hand.

They step through together.


	39. Legends

Abydos holds a place of near legendary status among the annals of the SGC.  Everyone from scientist to soldier to technician knows the importance of the planet, its temples and cities, and the endless expanses of rolling desert dunes that served as the backdrop to an accidental battle for freedom from false gods that gave birth to the Stargate program.  Many hold the planet in nearly as much awe as they do the members of SG-1.  

Even knowing SG-1 as well as she does, Sam can understand the feeling.  The SGC, isolated by secrecy, danger, and discovery, has developed their own internal system of values, codes of conduct, and most importantly, built in sets of mythology and heroes.  They are vital, because no matter how horrendous the odds become, the members of the SGC at least have something to put their faith in, something to convince them that there will always be hope.

Abydos is a fundamental part of that.

Sam’s tried many times to imagine it, tried to turn Daniel’s quiet descriptions into vibrant pictures in her mind.  Today, though, she steps through the Stargate and knows she’ll no longer need to imagine and she’s grateful.  Abydos has come to mean even more to her in the last few weeks, no longer merely of historical significance.  Outside the stories and wonder, she knows now, what this place really means to SG-1 and to Jack in particular.  She’s going to see the planet that gave him back his life.

Even in the cold, prickly, swamping speed of the wormhole, she thinks she can feel his hand securely wrapped around hers.

The alien world materializes around them and Sam finds herself standing in a stone-lined room, no less than forty linen-clad people crowded around behind the DHD.  There is a moment of heavy silence as the wormhole blinks out behind them, the absence of blue light revealing a room of warm, yellow stone reflecting the flames of hand held torches.

The gathered crowd regards them with such solemnity that Sam takes a nervous step backwards, but Jack’s hand holds her in place.  A path opens up in the throng, a bearded man in a tall, turban-like hat approaching them, two women holding wide wooden bowls behind him.

The man says something to Daniel with a slight bow, and Daniel replies in kind.

“Kasuf,” Jack says when the man looks in their direction.

“O’Neill,” the Abydonian replies.

Daniel gestures to Sam, saying something, but all she can make out of it is her name twisted by the smoky accent of their language.

“Welcome, Samantha,” Kasuf says when Daniel finishes.  “You honor us with your visit.”

The words are heavily accented, but recognizable.  Sending a quick glance in Daniel’s direction she says, “It is my honor to be here.”  She’s not clear what her part in this obviously ritualized greeting is, but Daniel nods his head and gives her a small smile of reassurance.

The women approach them next, offering Daniel and Jack wide wooden bowls that seem to hold water.  Sam doesn’t know if she simply hadn’t been expected or if there’s something much more fundamental at work in her exclusion.  She hadn’t even thought to ask Daniel if there were any prohibitions based on gender that she should know about.  The crowd is equally populated with men and women, but it doesn’t escape her notice that the attendants lined up behind Kasuf are all women.

Jack and Daniel still haven’t partaken of the offerings, the two men sharing a moment of wordless communication, Jack adamant and Daniel exasperated.  She’s not sure who wins, but Jack eventually turns to her and hands her his bowl.

“Drink,” he says in an undertone.

Sam raises an eyebrow at the command, but takes a sip of the surprisingly cool sweet water without comment, handing it back to him when she’s done.  Jack finishes off the last of it before returning it to the woman with a small bow.  It’s only then that Sam realizes a whispered murmur has built up in the crowd.

The offering of refreshments for the travelers seems to mark the end of the formalities, because Daniel steps forward into the crowd and the mass of people press in around him, reaching out to touch any part of him they can, a soft chant of ‘Dan-yel’ building in the background.

Sam stands in amazement, finally understanding that the rapt attention of the Abydonians was not born of hostility or fear, but rapturous admiration.  She should have expected this.  

“You’re their heroes,” Sam says softly to Jack.

Jack looks discomforted by her words, but doesn’t get a chance to respond as a small group of young men step forward to offer slightly off-kilter salutes.  Jack snaps a lazy salute in response, walking forward with a smile to greet most of them by name, nearly enveloped by the milling crowd.  Before he’s completely swallowed up, he turns back to Sam, holding out hand and a path opens up between them.

She can feel the weight of speculative eyes on her and wonders what Daniel said about her earlier or if merely standing by Jack’s side gave her certain position in the eyes of the populous.  She slips her hand into Jack’s and listens to him introduce the young men as they sweep out into the bright Abydonian sunlight.

None of her imaginings even come close.

*     *     *

The tent is exactly as Daniel remembers it.  The same scents, the same order tumbling towards chaos that has always characterized his father-in-law’s abode.  Kasuf is a good leader to his people, slow to anger, quick to defend, and though once resistant to change, he has learned much from the younger generation, the rebellious youth of Skaara breathing vitality back in a culture stilted by fear.

Hanging boldly on one wall is a thin paper scroll baring the tale Daniel had first read to Sha'uri in a dusty tunnel more than six years previously.  He remembers her face in the warm torchlight as her eyes slid away from the words he read, a hesitation born out of habit, only to snap back with a small beat of annoyance at herself, rebellion long suffocated flickering to life as he watched her.

Maybe it was her defiant love of words that first drew him to her.

“It is good to have you here once more, good son,” Kasuf says breaking into Daniel’s thoughts.  In invitation to sit, one of Kasuf’s hands sweeps towards Daniel’s traditional place at his left, only to switch midstream after a twitch of hesitation, pointing instead to his right.  

Skaara’s seat, the spot accorded to the firstborn son.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel says, staring at the empty spot and remembering all the times he saw his brother-in-law seated there, hands animated and face eager as he debated issues with his father.  “I should have found a way.”

Kasuf’s eyes slide past Daniel, his hands poised and calm in his lap.  “There is peace to be found in knowing he is free.”

Daniel thinks he should feel reassurance there, but it’s just another reminder that Sha'uri is yet enslaved.  He feels no closer to her than he was five years ago when he first badgered his way onto SG-1.

“You should know, good father, that I do not intend to give up on Sha'uri.”

“This I have always known,” Kasuf confirms, but there is something in his voice that speaks to pity, though whether over his daughter’s seemingly immutable fate or Daniel’s willingness to waste his life in the name of an unreachable goal, Daniel doesn’t know.

He isn’t ready to accept either.

*     *     *

The traditional Abydonian funeral is a three-day affair leading up to the interment of the body with worldly belongings and a wake-like celebration meant to free sorrow through remembrance.  This first evening entails the traditional tales and a calling of the deceased soul.  Daniel understands it as a way for the people here to comprehend a death that took place so far from home.

The sun has been set for about an hour and the villagers begin to spill out of their tents, walking towards the large bonfire being coaxed into life over the second dune where the great pyramid sits ghostly in the distance.  Daniel slips into the crowd, letting the familiar sounds of their voices wash over him.

Many of the Abydonians speak a hybrid language of half ancient Egyptian, half English.  Language has always been understood as a gift from the gods, and after the rebellion, it became just another reminder of their subjugation.  Along with reading, learning to speak English is an open act of continued resistance, and also a way for them to honor Earth for the part they played.

Tonight, the ceremony is all about rebellion and honor.

Daniel finds Jack and Sam already sitting by the edge of the fire, Jack’s small entourage of worshipful young men fanned out behind them.  Jack seems to be ignoring their antics and whispers, but Daniel can see Sam turning back to look at them with amusement, which just causes a larger stir among them.

Daniel sits down on Jack’s other side, and the crowd falls into silence as Kasuf steps forward.  He slowly circles the fire, hands clasped to his chest as everyone lowers to sit in the sand as he passes, movement rippling outwards as if part of a unified wave.

“He will tell the story of the rebellion and the role Skaara played in it,” Daniel explains lowly to Sam.  

Kasuf continues to circle silently, the only sound that of the crackling fire and the soft wind rising up off the dunes.  When he finally speaks, his voice is deep and resonant, the words following the steady rhythm of an oft-told story.

On the other side of Jack, Sam has pulled her knees into her chest, seemingly hypnotized by the beauty and cadence of Kasuf’s voice as he relates a tale apparently familiar enough to her that she can follow merely by the gestures of the chieftain’s hands and the occasional English word.  

The crowd swells around them, a ritual of proper responses to the tale, scripted questions called out at the proper time, the clicking of tongues at acts of great evil, the collective sigh of a near escape, and the repetitive whisper of a name after a great deed.  The children have become quite adept at mimicking the sound of a staff blast or the echoing retort of an automatic weapon.

After the crescendo of the large boom from the crowd marking the eradication of Ra in a ball of light, Kasuf comes to stand in front of Jack and Daniel, his words switching to English for the most sacred stretch of the litany.

“A group of off-worlders came, opening our eyes to false gods, helping us see beyond tricks of magics and ill-gained powers.  They came and we saw.  Of this, Skaara was the first to understand.  His bravery is a model for all to follow, born and yet to be.  Skaara.”

The crowd repeats Skaara’s name in reverent tones.  Just half a beat late, Jack’s low voice joins the call and out of the corner of his eye, Daniel can see Sam’s hand reach for Jack’s.

Once the chant fades, Kasuf steps back into the crowd and Daniel pushes to his feet to take his place.  

All attention now riveted on him, Daniel circles the fire three times, his voice filling the silence on the last revolution.  

“Two great ships of the evil Apophis came to the world of the Tau’ri to destroy them for helping Abydos defeat Ra.  The vile one, Klorel, who kidnapped and possessed Skaara, came also to this place.  O’Neill and Daniel entered these great ships to stop them, accompanied by their friends Lorne of Earth and Teal’c of Chulak.  To save their people, they were forced to use their mighty weapons against Klorel and his ship exploded like a mighty sun in the night sky.  In this manner, Skaara’s soul was set free, no longer a slave to the evil ones.”

All around the fire, heads nod in understanding, Skaara’s name once again whispered softly.

“What of Apophis?” asks a voice from the crowd.

Daniel nods, prepared for the question.  He looks over at Sam, but she no longer looks relaxed, now drawn tight with tension, looking for all the world that Jack’s hold on her hand is the only thing keeping her in place.  Daniel walks around the fire until he’s standing directly in front of her.

“O’Neill, Teal’c and Lorne, with their friend the great warrior Bra’tac, were captured by Apophis who wished to punish them for the destruction of his ship.  It was Samantha who defeated Apophis, saving O’Neill and keeping Earth safe.”

All eyes fall on Sam.  She meets Daniel’s gaze, her chest rising heavily with each breath.

“How did she defeat him?” asks a woman from the crowd.  Many other women’s voices rise as if an echo.  “How?”  He can hear awe in the chant, a mix of disbelief and need to understand how a woman had saved her entire world.  

Daniel looks at Sam.  “Though she is strong, she did not use the strength of fists or weapons, but the abilities of her mind.  She created a mighty potion that sapped him of his powers.”

Soft murmuring of the name Samantha rises up in the crowd.

Daniel circles back to the fire, away from Sam and Jack.  “Skaara fought bravely and taught the off-worlders much.  The Tau’ri continue the battle on his behalf.  They will honor him always.  Skaara.”

The crowd answers in kind.

At the end of his last rotation, Daniel retakes his seat by Jack’s side, pulling off his glasses to rub at his eyes.  Jack grabs his shoulder, fingers tightening in a moment of silent communication and reassurance.  Daniel nods, putting back on his glasses and giving Jack a wan smile.

The priestess and her assistants now take center stage, the old woman’s voice ringing clear in the night air.

“Skaara, son of Kasuf, we call out to your wandering soul!  Return to the land of your people, the sands of your birth.  Take what we offer and wander no more.  Let us care for you so you may find everlasting life in the next realm.  Return to us, son.  We call out to you. Skaara, son of Kasuf!  Return!”

The bonfire burns high into the sky, embers swirling and rising to the bright stars above.

“They’ll keep the fire burning all night, at least one person in attendance on his soul at all times,” Daniel explains softly as the priestess and her assistants place offerings on the sand.

At some unspoken signal, everyone silently pushes to their feet, splitting into small groups and returning to their tents.  Jack starts to push to his feet to follow, but Sam doesn’t move.

“I didn’t create the serum,” Sam says, her voice low and even, one hand thrust into the sand in front of her as if grasping for some form of foundation.  “It was Julia’s discovery, not mine.”

Daniel watches her face in the warm reflection of the fire, sees something there he’s not sure what to make of.  “Does it matter?” he asks.

She shifts slightly, her head tilting towards him.  “They should know the truth.”

“And what’s the truth?” Jack asks, crouching back down behind her.

Sam looks back over her shoulder at him. “I ignored Jason’s orders by taking the serum with me.  I risked Apophis getting his hands on an insanely powerful weapon.”

It’s strange to hear her speak of orders and tactical risks.  “But that didn’t happen,” Daniel reminds her.

“It could have.  I was foolish.”

He looks to Jack to back him up, but he is strangely silent, watching the fire.  “If you hadn’t, none of us would be here right now, and neither would Earth,” Daniel says.

She shrugs.  “You just…you made it sound like I had some great plan, like I was just sitting there waiting for the perfect moment to strike, when really I was scared as hell and pretty much willing to give them anything they wanted just to make the pain stop.”

Daniel remembers Sam just after her ordeal, empty and distant, so much space shoved between her and everyone else.  He can almost feel it still at this moment, that impenetrable pulse radiating off of her like the force of opposing magnets.

He has no idea what he can say to fix that.

“When the moment came, you acted,” Jack says.  “Even though you were scared and in pain and probably shouldn’t have even been able to walk, you _did_.”

“I wish I could say I did it for Earth or those enslaved Jaffa,” she says, “but all I was thinking was that I couldn’t survive watching you die.  Because even if I failed or it didn’t work, at least I’d be the first to go.  I’d never have to see… That’s the bravery you’re asking these people to honor.”

“You’re human, Sam,” Jack says, “but that’s not what this night was about.  They don’t need to hear that the only reason I came to Abydos in the first place was because my superiors thought I was suicidal enough to be fine with a one-way tip.  To the Abydonians I’m just the hero who helped save them.”

Daniel feels a beat of surprise at the words, at Jack’s open assessment of what he knows was one of the darkest moments of the man’s life.  Even more, Sam doesn’t look surprised, but resigned, nodding her head in understanding.  

“And you’re saying that doesn’t bother you?” she asks.

Jack shakes his head, amusement curving his lips.  “Hell no.  It drives me nuts.”

Sam lets out a soft huff of amusement, her head leaning into Jack’s shoulder.  They are all silent for a while, watching the bonfire and the glittering stars above them.

“The stories,” Daniel eventually says, “they’re not lies, but not exactly truth either, because they’re not about us.  They’re about what the Abydonians need.  Something to believe in.  Tonight the women of Abydos are beginning to believe that they may be capable of great deeds if the moment ever comes.”

Sam nods her agreement, but her brow is furrowed and she’s chewing the inside of her lip the way she does when thinking something through.

“Is that why there were only two bowls of water when they greeted us?”  She looks like she’s wanted to ask that question for a while.  “Because I’m a woman?”

“No, of course not,” Daniel automatically replies.  It’s just custom, one he’s never given too much thought to granted, but harmless still.  “They didn’t offer you anything because....” He trails off, his eyes narrowing in annoyance at his inability to answer properly.

“Because it was assumed you belonged to one of us,” Jack finishes for him as if it’s the most obvious conclusion.

“So giving me your water was as good as claiming me,” Sam says, some of her wry humor resurfacing.

“Well, I wasn’t going to let Daniel claim you,” Jack replies, grinning crookedly at her.

Sam’s not angry, Daniel can see, just curious, but he feels the uncomfortable truth lodge in his throat.  Cultural customs are his specialty.  Like most pre-industrial societies, Abydos is patriarchic, but women have great power behind the scenes.  It never had that bitter tinge of misogyny until now, knowing that Jack had seen it and he hadn’t.

Daniel doesn’t have time to brood on it, though, as a little girl of about six sneaks up behind Sam, tugging on her robe.  “Samantha,” the child lisps, tripping over the syllables, eyes wide with hero worship.

Sam looks down at her and the child’s small hand reaches out to touch a pale lock of blond hair that has escaped from her hair covering.  Sam pushes back the linen from her hair, a flash of gold in the dark night and lets the little girl play with it.

“Panya!”  A young woman appears to claim the child, apology clear on her face, but Sam just smiles, placing one hand on the girl’s head.

Leaning in close, Sam whispers to her as if a secret, “You can be whatever you want to be.”

The little girl tilts her head to the side as if considering Sam’s words and then is swept up into her mother’s arms, both of them bowing their heads politely to the visitors before hurrying back to the nearest tent where many other women talk avidly to each other, touching the child themselves.

“I’m not sure I will ever get used to that,” Sam says, her tone light, but something of a shadow lingering in her eyes.

Jack reaches out for her hands, pulling her to her feet.

Daniel stays seated by the fire, watching Jack lead Sam away, his hand low against her back as they slip into the tangle of tents.  When at last he loses sight of them, he turns his back on the village, his feet following the familiar path to the cartouche temple.  He’ll not join Kasuf in the family tent this night, can’t risk falling asleep to the familiar sounds and smells, because when he wakes up, he’ll find empty blankets next to him with far too many uncomfortable questions where certainty used to rest.

He spends a familiar, bleary night under the flickering glare of Goa’uld decor, a flamboyantly glittering map of the known galaxy.  The inscriptions that opened the galaxy to Earth, that opened Abydos to Apophis.

If the towering glyphs make him remember that he’d spent a night just like this five years ago, unwitting that he was working through his last night with his wife, well, he considers it fitting punishment.

His eyes trace over the gate addresses and he wonders where she is at this very moment.

Out of reach as always.


	40. Save You

As Jack and Sam make their way through the village, a young couple approaches them, broad, proud smiles on their faces.

“This way, please,” the young woman says, taking Sam’s arm.

The young man bows as well. “Yes, please, you come.”

Jack catches Sam’s eye, but she just shrugs, willing to go with the flow.  After a short walk, they stop in front of a small tent dyed a darker shade of ochre than the others.  The young man pulls open the flap, gesturing for them to enter.

“Many blessings,” the woman says.

Jack and Sam step inside, the flap closing shut after them.  The tent is quite small, a single lantern hanging from the center post, casting flickering shadows against the cloth walls.  Nearly half the space is taken up by a low pallet made of blankets and stacked rushes.

“I guess we’re staying here tonight,” Jack says, spotting their packs off to one side.  Someone must have brought them up from the pyramid.

“I hope we didn’t put them out,” Sam says, looking back over her shoulder.

Jack thinks allowing them to stay here is probably seen as a great honor to the young couple.

“Oh,” Sam says, apparently realizing the same thing.  “Of course.”

The slightly bitter edge to her voice tells him Apophis is still heavy on her mind.

 _I wish I could say I did it for Earth or those enslaved Jaffa, but all I was thinking was that I couldn’t survive watching you die.  Because even if I failed or it didn’t work, at least I’d be the first to go.  I’d never have to see… That’s the bravery you’re asking these people to honor._

He knows she still blames herself for breaking.

“Cozy,” he comments, trying to dispel the strange vibe that seems to fill the small space.

Taking a few more steps into the tent, Sam’s hands lift to unwind the cloth around her shoulders.  “I feel like I have sand everywhere,” she says.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, watching her run fingers through her unbound hair.  “Deserts tend to do that.”  

It isn’t what he meant to say, and even worse, something of his deep-seated dislike of deserts leaks into his voice and she’s staring at him, her hands frozen mid-motion.

He turns away, trying not to think of grit in his teeth, blinding sand ripping at his face, and the thumping retreat of the helicopter.  

 _Everybody breaks._

Pulling off his jacket, he folds it carefully, feeling the ribbons and awards tugging against the fabric and the choking hold of his tie and carefully buttoned shirt.  Dropping down to sit on the floor, he loosens the tie with agitated motions, pulling it up and over his head.

“Jack?”  She’s moved across the tent, her eyes still intent on him.

He rolls his shoulders as if to free himself of the unwelcome memory rising to the surface, but it doesn’t help and she’s still staring, so he doesn’t bother to hold the words back.  “You asked me once…if I ever broke.”

She stills, like she’s scared the slightest motion on her behalf might chase away the honesty lacing his voice.  Then she deliberately squares her shoulders, taking another step.  

“I did,” she says, confirming that she still needs to hear the answer.

“Do you remember Cromwell?” he asks.

He watches her try to place the name, the brief flash of horror as she remembers, the man probably most memorable to her for his death in the gaping maw of a black hole.  Does she blame herself for that death? Jack never thought to ask her.  What a strange circle of guilt the three of them make.

“He was my commanding officer, long before the Stargate Program,” he explains.  “During a mission, I was hit by enemy fire.  He left me behind.”  His hands clench, his nails biting into his palms.  “The people who captured me…they’re the kind of people who make a quick death alone in the desert seem…kind.  I was their prisoner for four months.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but he knows he doesn’t have to.  He can see the possibilities running through her mind, knows none of them are close to horrific enough, but he’s glad of it.

She kneels in front of him, sitting back on her heels.  “Show me.”

He pulls her hand beneath the collar of his shirt, feeling her fingers settle on the old scar, tracing it from one end to the other.  He can still feel the roughness of the rope sometimes.  

“I took the chance when it came.”

There’s a glint of horror in her eyes as she makes the connection, as she realizes what he’d tried to do, but there’s no judgment, just understanding.  It’s so much easier to tell her than he imagined.  He knows she understands because she’s been there too, now.  He wishes none of that had ever happened to her, but he can’t deny that it adds another layer of intimacy to this thing between them.

Never dropping his gaze, Sam tugs at the neck of her own robe, the rough linen sliding down one arm to reveal an angry scar, a starburst of burgundy staining the smooth skin just the above curve of her breast.  

“This is the one that broke me,” she says.

He’s read the reports.  On an intellectual level he knows what happened to her, but seeing her body, the indelible mark there, impacts him on an entirely different level.  His fingers are not entirely steady when they reach out to slide across the scar, tracing the outline.  

“Does it still hurt?” he asks.

She considers the question for a moment, biting her lower lip.  “Only in my head,” she explains.

“Yeah,” Jack says, because he understands how the body can heal but the mind can still convince itself it never will.

Her fingers move to the sash at her waist, slipping the knot free.  She lets the fabric fall open, revealing three more dark patches down her torso.  She bypasses all of them, instead running one finger along a faint line at the bottom of her stomach.  “This is where...,” and she can’t finish, her eyes dropping to the floor.

He touches the thin scar and she looks up at him with unapologetically raw sincerity, his chest constricting painfully.  There are some things he knows can never be fixed, but she isn’t asking him to.

She reaches for his shirt, the barest moment of hesitation, as if giving him time to stop her, but Jack doesn’t move, sitting quietly as her fingers release each button.  She slides her hands under the edge of the farbric, pushing it down and over his arms.  

He watches her fingers trace each scar on his arms and chest, searching, curious, but more than anything simply acknowledging them as part of him.  He knows he would tell her each story carved there now, if she only asked.  She doesn’t though, and he thinks it might be because the time for talking is finally over.  Her hands slip lower, spreading warmly across his stomach, her fingers dipping gently into the waist of his pants, trailing just under the edge, his pulse jumping at the unexpected contact.  

“Sam,” he warns, catching her hands and holding them still.  His eyes skim up her body, the gentle curves exposed by the loose edges of her robes tantalizingly close after so many long months of distance.

In answer to his unspoken question she shrugs the robe off her shoulders, shuffling even closer to him, letting the last of the fabric pool to the floor.  Her complete lack of hesitation or embarrassment as she kneels there in front of him undoes any last concern he may have had, the mere act of looking at her unleashing a tight rush of desire.

Lifting both hands to her face, he pulls her gently, lowering her mouth to his, kissing her with everything he’s never been able to put into words.  She presses closer, melting into the kiss until she’s in his lap, the warmth of her body melding into his and there’s nothing left to think of but how beautiful she is in the golden light of the lanterns, her eyes drifting half-closed as he patiently rediscovers her body.  In response, her hands skim across his back, fingers tracing the trail of his spine, her foot grazing along his leg, urging him even closer.

They’ve been so careful of each other since she returned.  He hasn’t touched her like this for months, or ever, if he can dare to be even a little more honest.  With them, sex had always been about need and friction and unguarded passion, like an explosion.  Here there is only deliberation and tenderness and it disarms them both with its honesty.

It feels right that they should finally surrender to each other, to this thing between them that’s been building and falling apart and leading them somewhere neither had ever expected to go; it feels right that this happens on the warm sands of Abydos that have brought him back from the brink once before.

The experience leaves Jack feeling completely emptied, turned inside out, his heart thumping in his ears as he lowers his head to her chest, feeling the soft sheen of her skin under his cheek and her equally erratic heartbeat.  He waits for some feeling of recovery, pulling himself back together, but as the minutes slip by it doesn’t come.  He turns his head into her body, kissing his way up her neck, rolling to the side and taking her with him.  She ends up half-sprawled on his chest, her hair falling like a curtain around them, blocking out the rest of the universe.

There’s an eminently satisfied look on Sam’s face as she gazes at him, her lips half-curved into a smile, eyes heavy and Jack says it without thinking.

“I love you, Sam.”

She’s completely still for a moment as if he hasn’t spoken, but then her eyes widen, chasing away some of the dazed befuddledness in her expression.  She doesn’t look panicked though, it’s something else completely that he can’t identify.

“I’m sorry,” she eventually says.  “Could you say that again?”

Jack reaches up to caress her cheek, his thumb sliding along her jaw.  “I love you, Sam.”

She grabs for his hand, her eyes suspiciously bright and for a while, all she can do is nod.  Then she presses a kiss against his palm, a slow smile transforming her face.  “I have loved you since long before I was smart enough to know it.”

“But you’re a super genius,” Jack teases, smiling up at her.

She glares at him, her elbow tapping him in the ribs, but she follows it with a kiss, hot and wet right below his ear and he thinks he may have discovered the best version of the Sam glare yet.  

“If I was a super genius,” she says against his neck, “I would have dragged you back to my lab and had my way with you that first night I spilled my coffee on you.”

He likes the sound of that.  Trailing his fingers up and over her ribs, he feels her shiver against him, her breath catching.  

“Are you finally ready to admit you did that on purpose?” he asks.

She pulls back, her lips hovering just above his.  “Never.”

Jack can live with that.


	41. Intermezzo

Sam is waiting outside the locker room when SG-1 steps out, fully kitted and ready to go off world.

“Morning, Sam,” Evan says as she falls in next to them.  Teal’c nods his head and Jack just smirks because it’s only been an hour since they drove into the mountain together this morning.  And before that…

Daniel makes some unintelligible sound of protest at their obviousness before kidnapping Sam’s mug of hot coffee.  “Missions should not start this early,” he mumbles once he has enough caffeine in his system to form actual words.

“Isn’t this the tropical beach planet?” she asks.  Jack’s been talking about this one ever since he first caught glimpse of long, white sand beaches and crystal blue waters.  Apparently SG-1 rarely gets the nice planets.

“Yeah,” Daniel confirms, brightening a little. “P4X-884.”

“Well, when you’re not working on your tan, try to find something shiny to bring back for me.  And technologically advanced,” she says as they near the gate room.

“We’ll keep an eye out,” Evan says.

“Also, promise me no shenanigans.  I have a lot to do in the lab this week and will in no way have time to come up with some crazy plan to save your asses.”

“We will be most vigilant,” Teal’c pledges.

“Okay.  Have fun.”

“It’s good to have you back, Sam,” Daniel says, holding out her empty coffee mug.

“Thanks,” Sam says with a smile as the rest of the team disappears into the gate room, leaving her alone with Jack.  They’ve already said their goodbyes, but they still take a moment to look at each other.

“See you in a few days,” he says with that confident grin that first caught her eye almost four years ago.

“I’ll be here,” she confirms.

With one last smile he follows the rest of his team into the gate room, taking his weapons from the munitions sergeant.  Sam turns back to the stairs, taking them up to the briefing room where she refills her coffee and watches SG-1 get ready to depart below.

The gate groans into motion and Julia appears by Sam’s side somewhere around the fourth chevron.  They stand silently until the wormhole whooshes into life and SG-1 disappears one by one into the event horizon. 

All these years later, after all the things she’s seen and done, the Stargate still has the power to take Sam’s breath away.  So much for ‘theoretical’ astrophysics.  Maybe she should come up with a new name for her discipline.  She’ll add it to her to do list.

Having whisked SG-1 off on yet another adventure, the wormhole blinks out, leaving the room grey and empty once more.

“Ready to get to work?” Julia asks.

Sam turns to her and smiles.  “Definitely.”

~Fin~

  
 _And you ask yourself, “Who do I want to be?  
Do I want to throw away the key  
And invent a whole new me?”  
Got to tell yourself, “No one, no one,  
Don't want to be no one but me.”_

 _Your life plays out on the shadows of the wall  
You turn the light on to erase it all  
You wonder what it's like to not feel worthless  
So open all the blinds and all the curtains_

 _No one, no one  
Don't want to be no one  
But me._

 _We are moving through the crowd..._

“No One” by Aly & A.J.


End file.
